The Terrors of the Tower
by Shakespira
Summary: Just why is Joss so irreverent? A series of snippets of Josslyn Amell's life growing up in the Tower, featuring her twin, Joseph,her first love, Brin, as well as Greagoir, Wynne, Irving, Niall and others, not necessarily in chronological order.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_This idea came to me some time ago and I tossed it out because I didn't think I'd have time to work on it and the other stories. Then Enaid Aderyn mentioned that she'd love to see some stories of Josslyn's time in the tower when she was younger. So, here they begin. They won't be in any chronological order but they will feature Joss, Joseph, Brin (eventually) and others.  
>Thank you, lisakodysam, for your willingness to beta yet another story! <em>

**Tomorrow**

Joss skidded down the hall, hands stretched out on either side for balance. There was nothing more glorious than freshly-waxed floors. Her laughter echoed off the walls as she slid towards the first big curve.

"Look out for Senior Enchanter Swee – never mind!" Niall called, his voice cracking with shock and puberty.

Senior Enchanter Sweeney had his legs neatly taken out from under him as Joss ploughed into him. They fell in a tangled heap.

"Young lady, just what do you think you're doing?"

Joss felt herself picked up by the back of her robe and set on her feet. She pushed her tumble of curls out of her face and looked up into steely grey eyes.

"I'm sorry, Knight-Commander Greagoir. I accidently bumped into Senior Enchanter Sweeney," she replied and opened her eyes as wide as she could, because Petra had told her a lie was much more believable if one opened their eyes wide. It couldn't hurt to test her friend's theory.

He didn't seem all that impressed. She looked down at the floor, scuffing her stocking-clad feet against the smooth surface. A tickling sensation ran up her leg. Dismayed, she realized she had ruined her favorite pair of lisle stockings. Her big toe poked through and seemed to wiggle accusingly at her.

Knight-Commander Greagoir harrumphed several times, still not speaking. His armor, shiny and new because he'd only been the Knight-Commander for a month, creaked like an old woman as he moved back a step.

"Sweeney? What have you to say on the matter?" the templar asked, folding his arms across his chest and staring at the man.

"As she says, an accident, Greagoir. No harm done."

Joss turned a bright smile on the senior enchanter and then one on Greagoir. "I'm very sorry, Senior Enchanter Sweeney," she said sweetly.

Sweeney winked at her and then went about the business of collecting the vellum and book that had flown from his hand when he'd been bowled over. Joss stood waiting patiently for her punishment. Knight-Commander Greagoir did not approve of the young apprentices running about willy-nilly at all hours of the day. Those were his words, heard several times a week by most of the youngest apprentices.

"Apprentice Josslyn, come with me," the man ordered.

Josslyn's heart skipped across her chest, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that Niall, Owain and Petra were nowhere in sight. Bunch of cowards. She straightened her shoulders and fell into step beside Greagoir.

People thought he was a cranky, cantankerous old man. Joss didn't think he was cantankerous so much as constantly tired from wearing all that heavy plate armor. In fact, she decided, slipping her hand into his, she liked him. He was stern but not mean, and he never lectured like Enchanter Wynne did. Sometimes, he looked sad and would stare into space. Other times, she saw a gleam of pride in his eyes when he looked at the mages and templars. Sometimes, he even looked at her that way.

"This is the third time this week you've been caught sliding around the halls without your boots on, young lady. What do you think your punishment should be?"

"I know, Ser Greagoir, but it's irrepressible."

Greagoir snorted briefly and she wondered if he had something stuck in his throat. She would thump him on the back, like she'd been taught to do when someone was choking, but she was sure she'd break her hand if she did so, and she hadn't taken any healing classes yet. That was mostly because she thought Enchanter Wynne, who taught the healing arts, was the meanest, most boring woman in the Tower. Maybe even in all the Towers everywhere. Yes, she thought, that was highly likely.

"I believe _you_ are _irrepressible_, Apprentice Josslyn. I believe sliding down the halls is _irresistible_. Now where did you hear that word? It's a rather large one for someone so young."

"Enchanter Wynne says it to me all the time, when I do something I shouldn't, or say something I shouldn't. Her lips go all tight and prim-like. Besides, I'm not young, Ser Greagoir! I'm ten, now."

Joss shook her head. She had finally moved into the dormitory where her friends were, out of the baby dormitory, as everyone called it. She had been there for six years and had hated it for as long as she could remember.

"So you are, young lady. Old enough to stop sliding around the halls."

"But Lucian Caravel says that it helps polish the wax into the stone, Ser. He thanks me for doing it," Joss assured, feeling sorely put upon.

"When Lucian Caravel is running the Tower, he is free to have all the mages skidding around the corridors. For now, I am in charge of everyone's well-being, Josslyn, and I'll thank you to remember it."

Joss tried very hard to look apologetic, and no matter how much she wanted to appear that way, her smile insisted on coming out. She felt a reassuring squeeze of fingers that was a bit painful because of his gauntlets, but her smile brightened because it made her chest warm inside.

As they entered the First Enchanter's office, Joss felt a momentary flutter in her stomach. The same day that Knight-Commander Greagoir had taken up his new duties, Senior Enchanter Irving had become the new First Enchanter. He was mean in a sneaky way and Joss thought he was heaps worse than Wynne. He was like Apprentice Poppins, who pinched the girls very hard, but never hard enough to bruise skin, just hard enough to make their eyes smart and their skin sting. Sneaky. Both of them.

"What have you done this time, Josslyn?" Irving asked. His voice sounded like he'd been eating lemons, all sour and puckery. She bit her lip to keep from smiling at the picture of him sitting in the midst of a pile of lemons.

She explained why she was, yet again, standing in front of the First Enchanter's desk. He didn't look happy. At. All. She sighed, waiting for her punishment.

"You are to help Senior Enchanter Mendric catalogue the artifacts in the basement for the next two days, Josslyn. There is a cot down there and your meals will be sent to you."

"But…but there's spiders down there, and rats! And Senior Enchanter Mendric sings very badly, worse than me, even! And tomorrow is…" Joss trailed off.

Tomorrow Joseph was arriving, but telling them she knew that bit of information meant telling them _how_ she knew it. She pressed her lips together to stop the words from tumbling out.

"Tomorrow is what?" Irving asked and one of his brows rose so high it disappeared into his graying hair.

She looked at Greagoir, who was, conveniently, looking at her. He gave her a very small nod of encouragement. Well, she wasn't going to tell them, and they couldn't make her. If they knew she could walk in the Fade whenever she wanted, they'd most likely make her tranquil and she'd _eat_ spiders before she'd let them do that.

"Tomorrow is another day," she said, crossing her fingers behind her back.

Cook Killdare had once told her that crossing one's fingers made keeping secrets allowed. Joss loved Cook Killdare because she always smelled like freshly-baked bread and cinnamon. If she said it, it must be true.

Joss was about to whistle, because the cook had also told her that whistling was a wonderful distraction, but she couldn't actually whistle, no matter how hard she tried, or how much Kinnon had tried to teach her. In fact, whenever she tried, the others all hooted and giggled at her. She pressed her lips together and waited, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Report to Senior Enchanter Mendric immediately, child."

"Yes, First Enchanter."

As soon as Joss was out of the room, she cupped her ear against the wall, just outside the office, and listened.

"That seems a bit harsh, Irving. The child is merely exuberant."

"I think it best if she is not present when her brother arrives. The reports indicate he is boisterous and headstrong. They are twins and apparently very much alike in temperament. It will be difficult enough once she sees him. She does not need another excuse to continue her willful disobedience."

"It might be the very thing they both need."

"A meeting can wait a few more days. This will give the lad time to find his footing. Maker help us all when she finds out he is here, if she does not already know. The walls seem to have ears."

Joss jerked her head away from the wall and grabbed her ear, sighing with relief when she realized it was still there. She'd never seen an ear on any of the walls but she had seen a suspicious bulge in one once. It hadturned out to be a leaky pipe, though.

"She's been here since she was four. I doubt she remembers her brother."

"They are twins, Greagoir, and I can assure you that she remembers him. It will be interesting to see if they share the same affinity for primal magic."

Well_, _of course she wouldn't forget her own brother. Greagoir might be the Knight-Commander_, _ but sometimes he was just silly. And now she wasn't going to get to see her brother when he arrived. She went in search of Niall to let him know she wouldn't be able to help him with his spell-crafting after all. Her chest hurt and her eyes kept watering. She wasn't going to cry, no matter how much she wanted to. Crying was for babies and she was ten, much too old to cry. She sniffed loudly.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Listening to Mendric sing off_-_key, Joss took the dusting rag and swiped at the large bust of an ugly man with a hooked nose that looked a lot like Uldred. She spat on the bald pate and rubbed it fiercely, wondering if it was possible to learn a silence spell. Mendric's voice made her ears hurt.

"What time is it, Senior Enchanter Mendric?"

"Ten minutes later than the last time you asked," he replied and launched into a new song about the skies being knighted or something equally stupid. She sighed and put the bust back on the shelf.

Dinner arrived and Mendric gave her a pat on her head as he left for the night. Apparently _he_ was too important to sleep in the bowels of the Tower. She immediately cast a wisp and the soft green glow was oddly reassuring. She wasn't actually supposed to know that particular spell yet.

After she'd eaten everything, including the extra cookie that had been tucked under her napkin, she tried to find a way out of the basement that wouldn't attract attention. If First Enchanter Irving thought she would miss her brother's arrival, he was just as loopy as Godwin claimed. Not that Godwin wasn't a bit loopy as well, but in a harmless way.

The door squeaked as she pushed it open and she jumped, sure a mouse was nipping at her. She stooped and pulled her sock over her toe. There was no reason to present a mouse with such a tempting treat. Everyone knew that Enchanter Torrin had lost part of his little toe to a mouse. She shivered, glancing around to make sure no mice were after her. Maker, she hated creepy crawlies.

She crept past the dormitories on the first floor, scurrying by the open doors where the templars stood. On the third floor, she hid behind a tapestry, hoping nobody would notice that King Maric had an extra set of feet. She listened to the soft clank of metal as the templars moved along the corridor.

She finally found a window that opened on the fourth floor. After a brief struggle with rusty hinges, she pushed the window open and rested her head on the wooden sill. It was so late that the moon was already low in the sky and she sighed, wondering if Joseph was already asleep and in the Fade, waiting for her. She was afraid to go to sleep, in case a templar caught her napping by an open window. That would be hard to explain.

She blinked, startled awake by a warm hand resting on the top of her head. Maker's beard, she'd fallen asleep. It was tomorrow! Or it was actually today, but it had been tomorrow yesterday. Now she was just confusing herself. She rubbed at her eyes.

"Josslyn Amell, what are you doing here? This is the templar's floor," Greagoir asked quietly. She was surprised that he wasn't in his uniform yet, just plain clothes. He looked smaller in them.

"I – I wanted to see the sunrise," she lied, rubbing her eyes.

"He won't be here for hours, you know."

She blinked again. "Who?" she asked, trying her best to sound like she didn't understand.

"Who, indeed," he rumbled, pulling her to her feet. "I think we both know who you're watching for."

"Yes, Ser. I'll go back to the basement," she finally said with a sigh of disappointment.

"You've missed him a great deal, I imagine. I always missed my brother when he went off on his adventures," Greagoir said and his voice was as kind as she'd ever heard it.

"You have a brother?"

"I do. He died a few years back, but I miss him still. I suppose I'd find a way to watch for his arrival were I given a chance."

Joss found that oddly comforting as he walked her back down the stairs to the basement. He opened the door and motioned for her to enter the artifacts room.

"You'll be able to see him tomorrow, Joss. That's just one more day."

She felt that warmth in her chest again and gave him as bright a smile as she could muster. She didn't think it was probably very bright, but he returned it. And he was right. After six years, what was one more day?

"Tomorrow," she breathed and it was a promise, a secret between the Knight-Commander and a lowly apprentice that made Joss feel ten feet tall.

"Tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

**Distance**

Owain had once informed Josslyn that it took exactly five-hundred and thirty-five steps to get from the apprentice dormitory to the infirmary. He was full of astonishing bits of information that served no practical purpose but he claimed it calmed his mind to count things. Joss wasn't sure if he was crazy or just plain bored, but a calm mind was definitely a good thing to possess if you were a mage, so she didn't tease him about it.

Now, as she hurried along the gently-curved halls of the Tower, she wondered if maybe he just couldn't count any higher than that_, _because it felt a lot longer to her. No, that couldn't be right because he'd once counted the number of beans that Cook Killdare put in her bean soup, and while Joss couldn't remember the exact number, she knew it was a lot more than five-hundred and thirty-five. Maybe the fact he had longer legs than her meant it took him fewer steps? Not that it mattered how fast she got there – Ser Haggerty was blocking the entrance to the infirmary anyway.

"Are you hurt, Apprentice Josslyn?"

"No, Ser Haggerty."

"Are you feeling poorly?"

"No, Ser Haggerty," Joss replied.

"Then you'll have to wait."

"But, Ser Haggerty, my brother's in there!" Joss exclaimed, trying to coax a few tears out. It didn't work. She had never been any good at crying on command. Instead_, _she tried to meet his eyes. Maybe if she looked really, really sad he'd let her in?

Trying to meet someone's eyes when they wore a silver pail on their head was no easy task. He was new to the Tower and still followed all the rules, including keeping his bucket on his head so the big, bad, scary mages wouldn't see what he was thinking. She wondered, gazing up into the dark space where his eyes should be, if he slept in his helmet_, _too? That would certainly explain why he was always so short with everyone.

Joss had asked Ser Greagoir, when he was just a templar, why templars wore their helmets even indoors. He'd explained that it was to remind the templars to keep their distance from the mages_, _because some day they might be forced to do their duty and kill the mage. At the time, she'd been standing right beside him. Obviously wearing a helmet didn't work. She was surprised the templars hadn't figured that out after so many years.

"The others warned me about you, Apprentice Josslyn, and I'll not fall prey to your wily mage ways," Ser Haggerty warned, standing in front of the door, arms folded.

Josslyn tried very hard not to smile at that because nobody had ever told her she was wily before. Not that he made it sound like a compliment, exactly. She'd have to ask Petra what that word meant. Petra read the dictionary for fun and knew more words than just about anyone else in the tower. Josslyn loved to read_, _too; just not dictionaries.

She wondered if he would stop her if she put her ear to the door and listened, but then thought better of it. She didn't really think the wall would steal her ear, but she lived in a magical tower and decided she wasn't willing to risk it. If the walls did have ears then they took them from somewhere and she liked where her own ears were. Instead, she paced and tried to count. If it worked for Owain, maybe it would work for her.

Butterflies that felt like they were the size of griffons fluttered around in her stomach as she waited outside the infirmary. _He_ was inside, but she wasn't allowed in because she wasn't sick. Not that Joseph was sick, but all new apprentices had to go to the infirmary_, _just in case. Just in case of _what_ was never explained.

Joss gnawed on her lower lip, her butterflies growing. She continued waiting, wondering if something _was_ wrong with Joseph because he'd been in there for a very long time. She paced back and forth, counting the number of butterflies in her stomach.

She knew, by heart, what the routine was for new mages arriving at the Tower. As soon as new apprentices entered the Tower they went to see the First Enchanter, who told the new apprentice all the rules for mages. From there they went to see the Knight Commander, who told the apprentice all the rules for templars _and_ mages, as well as something called fraternizing. As soon as the Knight Commander was finished with the apprentice, a young tranquil came to take the apprentice to the quartermaster for new clothes. After that, they met with a Senior Enchanter to have their abilities tested, and then, finally, they were sent to the infirmary.

"Maker's hairy chin, what's taking so long?" Joss asked nobody in particular. Which was just as well, since Ser Haggerty wasn't likely to answer. He was probably asleep_, _anyway. Who could tell what was going on underneath the shiny helmet? Maybe _that's_ why they wore the things.

The dinner bell had rung ages ago and all her friends would be gathered at the long tables, eating. She was missing her favorite meal: apple and pork stew. Not that she thought eating was a good idea_,_ as nervous as her stomach was. Then again, feeding the butterflies might settle them down. She sighed and continued counting the butterflies in her stomach.

Just when she was sure the butterflies were beginning to move up her throat, the door burst open and Ser Haggerty uttered a muffled '_ungh_' as the door banged into the back of his head. She thought the new templar still had a lot to learn, including how far away from a door he should stand.

She stood frozen, sure her mouth was hanging open. Good, the butterflies could make their escape, she thought as she stared at her brother. He was staring backat her, his hazel eyes big as coins and he looked nervous. And angry. And then he pointed his finger at her and she braced herself, wondering if he was going to cast a spell at her. Ser Haggerty shifted_, _probably wondering the same thing_. _

"You didn't tell me I had to wear a gown," Joseph accused heatedly, but then he grinned at her, and her butterflies were gone.

Joss threw herself at him, hugging him fiercely. He hugged her back and then they were both talking at once and, even when she stepped back to look at him again, he held onto her arm. Then_, _he surprised her by pinching it. Hard. She yelped.

"Ouch! Why'd you do that?" she asked.

"Just making sure," he explained, before hugging her again.

"Making sure of what? That I bruise?" she groused, trying to frown_, _but her smile just didn't want to go anywhere.

"That I'm not in the Fade again. And why didn't you tell me I had to wear a dress? A scratchy dress. Why'd they take my trousers?"

Joss took his hand and dragged him away from Ser Haggerty_, _because he certainly didn't need to know that Joss met regularly with her brother in the Fade. He'd flip his bucket if he knew that.

"Don't talk about the Fade like that, Joseph. They'll take your head and mount it on their wall," Joss warned in a whisper, and then was sorry she'd said anything_, _because he turned as pale as chalk.

"Come on, let's go eat." Food, she'd learned, could cheer anyone up.

She pulled him along, giggling when he tripped over his robes for the third time. He glared at her, which made her giggle even more. She stopped walking for long enough to hug him again. He was warm and solid and not in the Fade, and she couldn't wait to tell him the _real_ rules of the tower.

When they entered the dining hall, it felt like the world had stopped to Josslyn. Everyone stopped talking and they all looked up to see who had dared enter so late. Joseph gripped her hand so tightly she let out a gurgle of protest.

"Find a place to sit, the both of you, and don't look so worried, young man. Everyone's already eaten so I doubt they're still hungry," Senior Enchanter Sweeney said with a smile.

Noise filled the room as everyone went back to their meal and conversations started up again. Joseph loosened his death grip on her hand and she moved among the tables with him in tow, looking for one that had room for both of them. She wasn't about to be separated from her brother so soon.

As they set about attacking their stew, she noticed Petra, two tables away, waving at her and she grinned around a mouthful of bread and stew. "See the girl waving at us? That's Petra. She once ate an entire bowl of cherries, stones and all, because one of the older boys told her that if she ate the cherry stones she would become a tree. But it just made her sick. She's very smart, except for believing that malarkey.

"And that dark_-_haired boy beside her? That's Niall. He's also smart, but Ser Greagoir says he suffers from being melancholic, whatever that means, so we call him Melon. He gets very homesick sometimes and misses his mother_, _ but he admits he doesn't really remember that much. He was five when he came here."

Joseph nodded around another mouthful of stew and, when he'd finished swallowing, he asked about the tall boy sitting across from Niall. Before she could answer, he scratched violently at his chest.

"I hate this gown. It's so scratchy it feels like I rolled around in nettles," he grumbled.

"It's a robe, not a gown. A magical robe with magical thread sewn in to help with your spells."

"What a load of hooey, Joss. Magical thread? It's just a scratchy old gown."

Joss frowned, suddenly worried that her brother would be very unhappy in the Tower. It was her home, the only one she could remember, and she'd been wearing the woolen apprentice robes forever. For a minute she felt an odd ache in her throat and her eyes burned. What if he hated it here? What if he hated her because she loved the Tower?

"Hurry up and finish eating, and I'll show you how magical thread works," she finally said, wondering just how exactly she was going to do that.

"So, who is that big guy across from Melon?"

"That's Owain. He's thirteen_, _ now_, _and has just started shaving. Don't talk to him about demons and such_, _because he gets very agitated and starts counting out loud when you do."

"Who's the goofy looking guy who's grinning at us?" Joseph asked, pushing his empty bowl away from him.

"That's Godwin. He's only eight and still sleeps in the baby dormitory. Enchanter Torrin says he's a natural born merchant because he's a schemer, but he's alright."

After dinner, she led him along the curving halls and down to a practice room. There were no templars around, which meant she really wasn't supposed to go in and practice her magic, but making Joseph happy was more important than a stupid rule.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she whispered a spell and snow began to gently fall from the ceiling. She shivered as the temperature dropped, but Joseph grinned, sticking his tongue out to try and catch a snowflake.

"See, magical thread," she bragged.

Joseph hadn't learned about the different schools of magic, or a mage's natural ability for certain schools of magic. When he did, he'd realize that the thread wasn't really magical, but Joss hoped by then he'd be used to the robes and life in the Tower. As if reading her mind, he turned to her and grinned.

"Bet they'll be sorry to have both of us in the Tower," he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

She felt the worry ease. He would be happy, once he'd been there awhile. The Tower was a far cry from their small estate in Dragon's Peak and would take some getting used to, but she'd be patient. And, she vowed to herself, she'd do whatever it took to make him happy.

Then Joss did the one thing she'd sworn she wouldn't do when Joseph arrived. "Did Mother and Father miss me?" she asked_, _and then wanted to bite her tongue off.

What a stupid thing to ask. Of course they didn't miss her, or they'd have written or something. She was such an idiot to even wonder about that, let alone ask the question out loud. She looked down at the floor where snowflakes were beginning to gather, feeling a sharp pang of envy that her brother had memories of their parents that she didn't. She couldn't even remember what they looked like.

Instead of answering, Joseph slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. "It doesn't matter because _I_ missed you, Jo. Heaps and heaps."

"I missed you, too, Joey."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_Thank you, Lisa, for not only beta reading this, but also for Ser Haggerty's nickname and for your suggestions!  
>Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing!<em>

**Heroes**

Joseph sighed again, and stared at the window set high on the wall. A sliver of mellow sunlight was all Joss could see when she followed his eyes. He'd been staring up at the window and sighing for hours. Or it felt like hours, Joss thought, trying not to get fidgety as she waited for him. He seemed more like Niall than Joseph, and nothing Joss did cheered him up. She gnawed on her lower lip, trying to think of something else that might help.

Joseph had been in the Tower for three months and every time she was sure he was finally settling into life in the Circle, he pulled away. When he did that he reminded Josslyn of Old Phinneus's turtle, Tubs. If someone poked Tubs, he would pull his head into his shell and not stick it out again for ages. Joss didn't want to poke Joseph, but it was time for dinner and she was hungry.

While she waited for her brother to stop looking up at the window, she sat down beside him and told him about Old Phinneus, who claimed to be as old as the Tower. Joss believed him because his face had more wrinkles than a walnut shell and his hair was a fluffy white halo around his head. She pictured the puffs of cotton that they used in the infirmary and thought they might actually come from his head.

He did all the jobs that the mages and templars couldn't. He kept the chimneys cleaned, and repaired anything that broke. And with so many mages, there was always something that needed fixed. He rode across the lake to pick up supplies, something Cook Killdare said he was very good at because he knew how to find the freshest food. He made sure that no doors squeaked, no windows were broken and that the Tower was a safe place, whatever that meant. With apprentices learning how to cast fireballs, it was never entirely safe in the Tower.

There were many rumors about how he came to the Tower, and why he stayed. Joss liked the one that claimed he was a farmer who came to visit his daughter, a mage, but when he saw the Tower was crumbling to the ground he decided to stay and repair it. Joss had trouble picturing him with a daughter, but she loved the thought that he would come visit her.

He was stooped and bent and never, ever wore a smile. Ever. But once, when Niall had accidently broken the hideous brown urn in the entrance hall by casting his newly-learned Mind Blast spell, Old Phinneus's frown had disappeared for a few minutes. The urn had been her favorite hiding spot, and Joss was sorry to lose it, but it was almost worth it to see Old Phinneus not frowning.

Joseph looked at her for a minute and then back at the window. She stopped talking about Old Phinneus because her brother wasn't listening anyway. Finally, she stood, pulling on his arm.

"It's time for dinner, Joey, and I'm so hungry I could eat that book!" she exclaimed, pointing at _The Land of the Giants_, a history book about the Alamarri barbarians.

"Bet you can't eat even one page," Niall said, coming into the dormitory. "In fact, I dare you to try, Josslyn Winifred Amell."

Hearing Niall's voice meant that dinner was over, which also meant sneaking down to the kitchens after everyone was in bed, or starving until breakfast, something that Joss wasn't sure she could do. The book looked very tempting as her stomach growled for food.

Joseph finally looked away from the window and grinned at Joss. "I bet she can eat two pages, Niall."

"Nonsense. Eating vellum will make her sick and besides, only a true barbarian would eat a book," Merrisoo said in her snootiest voice.

Joss glanced over at the perfect little mage with her perfect little ringlets and perfect little nose, wearing her perfect little smile and her perfectly pressed robe. Her fingers twitched; the desire to toss an icy wind at Merrisoo was very strong. Instead, the girl's words only fueled Joss's determination to eat two pages of the book just because she knew it would irritate the perfect little mage.

Leaning close to Joseph, she whispered, "If I do this, you have to tell me why you keep sighing and looking up at that stupid window."

"Deal."

"All right, Ser Niall, hand me that blasted book. If I eat two pages, you have to shine my boots for a week."

"And mine," Joseph chimed in with a grin.

"Deal," Niall agreed. "If you don't, then you have to make my bed for two weeks."

Joss looked at Joseph, who nodded, and the deal was struck. Niall was practically dancing in his boots, Joss thought irritably. She didn't really want to eat the two pages, but if it upset Merrisoo and made Joseph happy, she considered it a very good outcome, even if her stomach might not. She glanced around the room to see that all the apprentices were back from dinner and gathering around them.

Owain looked nervous; his hands, clasped in front of him , were twisting around each other like a cat teasing a mouse. Petra was smiling encouragingly. The other apprentices were nudging shoulders and probably wagering on the outcome.

"You're breaking the rules!" Merrisoo exclaimed indignantly, her perfect little hands on her perfect little hips.

"There's a rule that says we can't eat books?" Joseph asked with a snort of disbelief. Joss laughed.

Two days after his arrival, Joss had told Joseph the four most important rules of the Tower. One was not to ask where a mage had gone if they disappeared in the middle of the night and were never seen again. Another was to always be careful using magic outside of the practice rooms, because the templars got nervous and were likely to use their smite on him.

But she'd saved the two most important rules for last. She'd made him repeat them over and over until he could say them in his sleep. The second most important rule was that you weren't breaking any rules if you weren't caught. The most important rule was not to get caught. Joss had assured him if he followed those two rules, life was actually pretty fun in the Tower.

"Owain will be the judge," Joss said, ignoring Merrisoo. Niall agreed, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Joss wanted to poke her tongue out at him for being so sure he was going to win but now that she was ten, she really was too old for that kind of babyish behavior.

Owain stepped forward and unclasped his hands long enough to pick up the book and tear out a page. Handing her the page, he looked at Joss and frowned. "If you can't swallow, don't spit it out in my direction," he instructed, looking at her so sternly that Enchanter Wynne would have been proud.

"I promise. I'll aim at her," Joss vowed, nodding her head at Merrisoo. Petra snickered.

"And give me both of the pages now, Owain, so I can get it over with," Joss added, feeling confident that she could eat two stupid old pages in no time.

"I did."

Joss flapped the single sheet at him and shook her head. "I only have one."

"That is page fifteen on one side and page sixteen on the other. That's two pages."

Niall groaned and slapped his forehead. "I shouldn't have listened to Joseph. It would have been impossible for her to eat one page," he said glumly.

Joss carefully crumpled the page into as small and round a ball as she could make. It still looked too big but she stuffed the ball into her mouth all at once, grimacing as she clamped her lips tightly together and tried to chew. The page was very dry, and she was pretty sure she could taste dust, not that she'd ever actually eaten dust.

The other apprentices began to chant, "Chew, Joss, chew!" until she was certain the templar on duty would come in to see what all the yelling was about. Of course, Merrisoo didn't join in, Joss noticed sourly. Joss rolled her eyes at the mage, who merely stared at her. Joss had always found it impossible _not _to roll her eyes when someone did it to her but the perfect mage had perfect control of her perfect eyes.

She chewed and chewed, and then chewed some more. The page became a wet clump of vellum in her mouth that refused to slide down her throat as her mouth became nearly as dry as the page had been. She looked at Joseph, who was grinning and slapping Niall on the back. It was the first time she'd seen him looking really happy since his arrival. She winked when she caught his eye and continued chewing. He shouted encouragement.

At first she thought she was going to choke to death and hoped that whoever had to pound her on the back didn't hit terribly hard. Her eyes watered and she gagged, clapping her hand across her mouth as she forced the lump down her throat. When she was sure the ball was going to stay in place, she turned to Owain and opened her mouth as wide as she could.

Owain stepped forward and bent closer, looking inside her mouth, before he stepped back and cleared his throat. "Joss wins the bet," he announced with solemn dignity.

Joseph cheered as he pounded her back in celebration. Joss nearly fell down, and she was sure she'd have a bruise or two by morning, but he was laughing and looked happy for a change so it was worth it. And Owain was her new hero because if she'd had to eat two of those round balls of dusty vellum, she would have lost the bet. As it was, her stomach felt jumpy.

As soon as everyone in the Tower settled for the night, Joss slipped out of bed and shook Joseph's shoulder. Even in the faint light of the hallway torches, she saw his eyes widen but she shook her head, a finger pressed to her lips. He got out of bed and they went to the door, which was always left open so that no wily mages could do any terrible, wily things behind closed doors. Bucket-head, Ser Haggerty, was standing across from the door, arms folded across his chest.

Joss counted to ten and then she coughed. Ser Haggerty didn't move. She'd never understand how someone could sleep standing upright, but the templars were very good at it. She tugged on Joseph's arm and they crept down the hall until they rounded the curve, and then they ran the rest of the way to the stairs. Hurrying up the stairs, they then stopped until Joss had made sure the senior enchanters were all in their rooms. _They _had doors, which was nice for them and great for Joss because it meant less tip-toeing.

They sped up the next flight of stairs and then they halted again. Joss counted to thirty and waited for the sound of the heavy plate boots to fade away and then she motioned for Joseph to follow her.

She hugged the right-hand wall, hoping and praying that Ser Greagoir was not working late in his office. She sighed in relief and scurried past the closed door with the sliver of light shining under it. He was up, but the door was closed, which meant he was having a nip of something called whiskey before he went to bed. Joss had once heard him call it a nightcap, and she couldn't imagine why anyone would wear a small mug on their head, but she was afraid to ask since she was in a place she wasn't supposed to be in at the time.

The dining hall was very dark and she bumped right into something as soon as she took a step into the room. "Oomph," she mumbled, stepping around the First Enchanter's Chair, which was a tall-backed and solid looking chair that the other enchanters called his throne. She worked her way around the tables, her hands outstretched to prevent herself from bumping into one of the tables and knocking something over. The apprentices assigned to the kitchen had to set the table each night so it was ready for breakfast the next morning.

Her heart fell into her stomach as she saw the faint flow of a light under the kitchen door. If it was Cook Killdare they'd be in luck. If not, she'd be washing pots or listening to old Senior Enchanter Mendric singing until her ears bled. She cupped her ear to the door and listened, which proved unsatisfactory since whoever was in the kitchen wasn't making any noise.

"Come on," Joseph whispered, tugging her arm away from the door.

"Who's there?" came a rumbling, scratchy voice.

Josslyn's heart, which was still somewhere in her stomach, decided to fly up and go for a run around her chest. Old Phinneus the Frowner was behind the closed door. She gulped and took a giant step backward but it was too late. The door swung open and she was caught in the light of a candle being held in a gnarled old hand. She didn't know why he didn't use the lamps like everyone else because they were much brighter, but he was old-fashioned, according to Lucian Caravel, who also called him a relic.

"Is that young Joss? What brings you this way so late?"

Joss let out a breath and spoke up. "Yes, ser."

"Well, get in here and quit stomping around before the whole Tower hears you," he ordered gruffly. "And who's this?" he asked, holding the candle close enough to Joseph's face that Joss feared for her brother's eyelashes.

"Joseph," her brother answered.

"And related to Joss, no doubt. You've got the same look of mischief about you."

Joss glanced at Joseph and then up at the man with the nimbus of white hair. "Thank you, Ol – erm – Ser Phinneus," she said.

Old Phinneus made his way slowly back to a small table where a plate of food was sitting. Joss eyed it hungrily and she heard Joseph's stomach rumbling.

"Don't recollect seeing either of you at dinner. Get lost, did you?"

"No, ser. Joseph was looking up at the window and we lost track of time," Joss explained, inching toward the plate of cheese and meat. Her mouth began to water.

"Are you tetched, then, boy, to be staring up at a window?" the old man asked, motioning for them to sit at the table with him.

"No, ser."

"Watching for demons to come and get you, then?"

"No, ser."

"Can't think of another reason for it," Old Phinneus said in his gruff, rumbling voice.

"Sunset," Joseph muttered under his breath.

"Eh? Speak up, boy! The floor doesn't care what you have to say."

As he waited for Joseph to answer, and Joss admitted she was just as curious as Old Phinneus, the man pottered around the kitchen, slicing cheese and meat and setting two plates down in front of them.

"I was trying to see the sunset," Joseph finally said around a mouth full of cheese.

Joss blinked. They'd missed meals because he was trying to see a sunset? She couldn't actually remember ever seeing a sunset and thought missing a meal for one was crazy, which she promptly said out loud.

Old Phinneus cracked his gnarled hand on the table. "Andraste's flabby ass! Are you telling me, young lady, that you have never seen a sunset?" he thundered.

Joss gulped, spluttering and choking on the buttermilk he'd just poured for them. If he kept yelling at them, the entire Tower would catch them in the kitchen after hours. But she did love to hear him curse; she envied his talent and tried to remember them all and use them whenever she could.

In truth, Joss remembered nothing of her life before the Tower, other than being taken away from Joseph, and the terrifying journey from her home on the back of a horse. A horse, she remembered with a shudder, which had taken pleasure in tossing her off several times.

"I've been in this Tower for fifty years and I'll never understand the – " Phinneus ranted and then fell silent.

"Eat your food," he added and Joss fell on her plate like a starving man. Which she was, except she wasn't a man.

Old Phinneus cleared their way back to the dormitory. They hid behind a suit of armor while the old man went up to Bucket-head and rapped on the silver helmet. Ser Haggerty jumped nearly out of his armor and Joss had to bite her hand to keep from laughing out loud.

"What are you standing here for? Didn't you hear that loud thump down the hall?" Phinneus bellowed at Ser Haggerty, who charged down the hall, clanking loudly.

"Now don't let me catch you skulking around again," Phinneus scolded in his gruff, scuffed voice.

Joss nodded, fervently promising herself not to get caught again and also to look up the meaning of the word 'skulking' so she'd know what not to do.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"Hey, what's that?" Joss asked, pointing to the small wrapped package on Joseph's bunk, almost three weeks after their trip to the kitchen.

Joseph shrugged and picked up the package, untying the ribbon and sliding the plain paper away. On a thick piece of canvas was a small, gaudy painting of a sun, just about to fall out of the sky. It was orange and yellow and red and gold, with long streamers of color streaking into the dark blue sky.

"What is that supposed to be?" she asked.

Joseph looked at it and then at her. "A sunset," he said with a smile. "It's a painting of a sunset."

"Old Phinneus can paint?" Joss asked and then she smiled as she studied the painting.

It wasn't Phinneus who'd painted the picture. Owain had painted it. Nobody painted with those prim, neat strokes like Owain. He called it mathematical painting; she called it painting by numbers. Whatever it was called, he was precise, and the result made Joseph happy.

She glanced over at Owain, who was sitting at a desk, his Creation spell-book open. His lips moved as he read and his hands twisted in his lap. She glanced back at Joseph, who was grinning so big that she thought his mouth might break.

"It was Owain. How'd he know to paint that?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter," Joseph said.

Joss watched as her brother went over to talk to Owain. She wasn't sure what the fuss was all about but as she looked down at the painting, she thought sunsets didn't look too awful. Of course it would be years before she'd see one, not until she was an Enchanter. Might as well be a hundred years.

She explained to her brother that he would have to keep his painting in his trunk because they weren't allowed to display personal items until after they took their harrowing and became full mages. Personal items were a distraction, according to the rules. Each evening, just before going to dinner, Joseph opened his trunk, studied the painting for a few minutes, and then went down to eat.

He seemed much happier after that, smiling and laughing, not getting caught, but breaking rules right beside Joss. He and Old Phinneus the Frowner talked every day, something that made Joss green with envy because they said he had a thousand and one stories to tell, and she reckoned she'd only heard about twenty of them so far.

Two months after Joseph received the painting, Old Phinneus died in his sleep. Everyone was shocked because he had been there forever, and was supposed to be there forever. Joss had always been half afraid of him and half in awe of him. She cried when she heard, afraid that Joseph would be unhappy, and sorry that she wouldn't see Phinneus's nimbus of white hair and his frown. It didn't seem right not to see him wandering the halls, cursing at the apprentices.

On the day of Old Phinneus's farewell service and funeral pyre, First Enchanter Irving gathered everyone in the great hall, instructing them to bring their cloaks with them. Joss listened to a group of the senior enchanters talking while they waited for everyone to gather.

"Old Phinneus made two requests before he died. One was for Ines to take care of Tubs and the other was to hold his service on the western bank at sunset."

"Always was a strange man," Lucian Caravel said, shaking his dark head. Joss thought that was funny coming from the strangest man in the Tower and probably all of Ferelden.

Standing on the soft grass with a gentle breeze blowing, Joss watched her first sunset, and finally understood why Joseph had been so homesick for them. She stood next to her brother, and listened to First Enchanter Irving ramble on about death and life and duty, more intent on watching the huge fiery sun sinking into the water than actually listening to the First Enchanter.

She closed her eyes and whispered, "By Andraste's flabby arse, I thank you, Old Phinneus the Frowner."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **_Thank you, as always, to Lisa, for beating those commas into submission! Thanks also to all of you who are reading and reviewing. Your support for this endeavor is heartwarming. _

_This takes place two years later. Joss and Joseph are now twelve._

**Lessons**

Josslyn's eyes flew open and she sat up so quickly that her head spun. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest and she flung her blankets away, scrambling out of bed. Her stomach fluttered with dread. She was late. Again. She had told the others to go on ahead without her because she was an idiot. Andraste's flaming knickers! Why had she decided that she would meet them in the laboratory instead of going to breakfast with Niall, Petra and Joseph?

Sliding her feet into her soft boots, she tried to run her fingers through her tangled hair. One day she was going to cut all of her hair off, just like the Tranquil wore theirs. It had to be easier than trying to keep her hair neat all the time when it wanted to go its own way. Tugging her fingers through a sticky clump, she felt her eyes water as her scalp protested. Maker's little round balls! What had she gotten in her hair this time?

Running down the corridor, she heard the first toll of the bells. How late was she? Would the bells toll eight times? Nine? She'd missed breakfast, but had she missed her potions class? Lucian Caravel was going to yell at her again. Or he would if she was lucky. If she wasn't, he would make her stand in front of the class and apologize in Arcanum, a language she was not very good at.

"Stop right there, young lady!" a voice called, dripping with irritation and authority. "Stop her, Ser Haggerty!"

Josslyn didn't understand what happened next. One minute she was running forward towards the stairs leading up to the potions class, and the next she was sliding backwards on her bottom, feeling like she was about to throw up, as well as being very sleepy.

"Maker's breath, Ser Haggerty, I meant for you to stop her from running in the halls, not smite her," Senior Enchanter Wynne chided.

"You didn't say that, Senior Enchanter Wynne. I'm sorry," the templar replied, stepping forward to help Joss.

He didn't really sound all that sorry, and Joss ought to know. She was always apologizing because she had to, not because she actually wanted to. And then she realized what had been said. Her mouth fell open and then she snapped it shut.

_Smited_? He'd _smited_ her? Joss glared up at the templar, wondering if he could even see her expression through the narrow slits in his bucket. She sat forward, clutching at her stomach, which was very unhappy about the smite. It seemed to be rolling around and bouncing up and down.

"I wasn't even using magic!" she complained, and then promptly threw up all over his neatly-polished plate boots.

That should teach him to throw his smites around, Joss thought crossly as she sat back, hands shaking. She felt wobbly and the room was spinning. She'd never known anyone who'd been smited before. She wasn't even sure what it actually meant ,or why she couldn't feel even a trickle of mana flowing through her. And she couldn't sense the Fade at all. The silence was so strange. There was no hum, no murmuring.

"Oh, Josslyn, was that really necessary?" Senior Enchanter Wynne complained.

Well, it wasn't like she'd thrown up all over the templar on purpose! Joss turned her glare on the senior enchanter, whose dark hair was streaked with grey and whose mouth was all pinched and pursed. Old bat, did she think Joss had wanted to be knocked clear off her feet?

"Get up, child, and go change and wash. I'll let Lucian Caravel know you won't be in class this morning."

As Joss made her way back to the dormitory, walking very slowly because everything was still shuddering and shaky inside her, she wondered if Old Bucket-Head would get in trouble. Probably not. Somehow they'd find a way to make it all her fault that he'd smited her.

By the time she was cleaned up and feeling better, her stomach was rumbling for food. She poked her head out of the dormitory and saw Ser Haggerty, his boots gleaming once again, standing in his usual spot. She wanted to send a jolt of lightning into his helm, just a little one, but she didn't have any mana yet, so she settled for glaring up at him as she walked by his post. He shifted slightly, his boots squeaking as he moved.

"Never run in the hallways, it's dangerous."

Joss stopped mid-step and gave him her fiercest glare, the one she saved for when she was really angry and wanted to scare someone. Not that she could see if he was scared behind his stupid helmet. Niall said that Ser Haggerty always wore his helmet because he had been disfigured by smallpox and was so hideously scarred that he frightened people.

"That's not what they mean," she said, hoping he heard how angry and disgusted she was with him.

Old Bucket-head shrugged his metal-clad shoulders and ignored her. It was then that she decided she would get him to take that helmet off, and then maybe he wouldn't be so mean to the mages, maybe he'd understand that she wasn't something to be afraid of. Besides, if he really was as scary as Niall claimed, maybe she could scare Merrisoo into actually screaming or yelling or something. Joss smiled as she walked away. That idea had all the makings of a win-win situation, as Joseph liked to say.

When the others heard that Joss had been smited they crowded around her to find out what it was like. She spent nearly an hour regaling them with her tale of woe. Niall thought her idea to repay Ser Haggerty was sound, but he wasn't happy about Merrisoo being included in it.

Ever since Merrisoo had turned thirteen and begun to 'develop' - as the senior mages called it - Niall had been ridiculously protective of her, and Joss, who was still gangly and as flat as a flounder, didn't understand why. He couldn't possibly like her, could he? But there were times when Joss saw him staring at the perfect mage wearing a goofy smile on his face. Usually she'd go over and punch him when she noticed it.

Joseph pulled her aside and whispered in her ear that they ought to visit the templar in the Fade one night. "We can see what he dreams about and maybe even shape his dream, like you do ours," he said in a hushed voice that tickled her ear and made her want to giggle.

"Oh, I like when you come up with plans," she whispered back, thinking gleefully of the fun they could have. "Tonight?"

Joseph nodded and then they each socked the other in the right arm, waggling their brows before bumping left elbows, sealing their promise. Joss couldn't wait, even though it was hours before it was time for bed. Going over and plopping down on her bed, she spent some time trying to figure out what, exactly, they could do to Haggerty's dream that would really make him sorry he'd smited her.

"Joss, what was it like?" Owain asked, interrupting her daydream of creating the perfect revenge for Old Ser Bucket-head.

"Quiet, Owain."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Joss. I didn't mean to bother you."

Joss frowned, momentarily confused. He really did apologize too often. "No, no, Owain, I meant it was quiet. You know that humming sound in our blood? The one the seniors tell us is the magic flowing in us? Not a hum to be had. And the whispers from the demons in the Fade? Also gone. It was – it was lonely and kind of spooky. Think how all those poor saps without magic must feel. Just total silence."

Owain frowned and then motioned for her to scoot over so he could sit beside her. "Was it really spooky? Spookier than all those voices tempting you with things?"

She stared at him, thinking he was crazy. The demons that tempted her were fun. They hated to be ignored and she hated to disappoint their hating so she mostly ignored them, although sometimes she teased them right back, pretending to be interested in their offers. The only time she'd really been tempted was when one of them had promised her she'd be able to be with Joseph again. But by then Joseph was already discovering his abilities, and Joss knew he'd be coming to the Circle of Magi soon enough.

"Owain, do the voices really bother you?" she asked once it became apparent he was serious.

"They make it very hard to think sometimes. Don't you find that's true?"

"Mostly I just ignore them because it makes them angry. I love to make them angry, it's like a game."

Owain's expression shifted and he looked wistful, like he was wishing for something he couldn't have. "Is that what becoming a Tranquil is like, do you think? Silence?"

Joss frowned. "Maybe. Why?" she asked, feeling a prickle in her spine that made her shiver.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about it. What did you do to get smited?"

"Why?" Joss asked again, her frown furrowing her brow.

"For research purposes," he replied quietly.

"Owain, what are you thinking?"

Owain returned her frown with one of his own. "I'm just curious, Joss. Sorry I bothered you," he huffed, so unlike himself that Joss was immediately sorry she'd said anything.

"No, Owain, I didn't mean anything. It's just – it's just that sometimes you look like you want something you can't have. Like when Apprentice Poppins wants a second helping of dessert but can't have one so he stares at yours."

Owain smiled but Joss still felt uncomfortable. The smile seemed like it didn't really go beyond his mouth. She bounced on the bed, making his smile wobble and then he did the same, making her stomach flutter. She liked Owain. A lot. In fact, Joseph teased her about being sweet on him, but she wasn't sure about that. He was handsome and he shaved every day, while Joseph hadn't started shaving at all and Niall only did it once a week. And he was unfailingly nice to her. And smart.

"Are you scared about your Harrowing? You're only fifteen, Owain, you've got lots of time still, and I'll help you study and practice."

Owain started to speak, but Niall came over and wanted to know how Haggerty the Bucket-head had reacted to her losing her stomach all over his boots. Owain stood and went back to a desk, bending over his book again. Sometimes she could just punch Niall on his nose.

"Will you help me study, too?" Niall asked and he had that wicked gleam in his eye that always meant trouble, which made Joss grin in reply.

"Sure, what subject? Primal spells? The history of magic?"

"Come on, let's go somewhere else so we can talk without everyone watching and listening."

He pulled her along by her arm as they made their way out of the dormitory and along the curved hallway to a practice room. Glancing around to make sure none of the templars were watching, he pulled her into the room. As soon as the door was shut, he closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Joss giggled.

"What are you doing?" she asked, slapping his arm.

"Practicing."

"Practicing what? You look like Senior Enchanter Uldred's fish!" she said with another giggle as Niall opened one eye to glare at her. Uldred kept a colorful fish in a small glass bowl on his desk and whenever Joss looked at it, the fish was pursing its lips and flapping its fins.

"I do not!"

"Do so."

"Not!"

"So!"

"Just shut up and help me practice kissing," Niall said with a one-eyed scowl.

Joss's mouth fell open and she almost tripped on her jaw. "Kissing? You?" she asked with a funny squeak in her voice. She cleared her throat. "How can we practice that if we don't actually know how? Did you read a book on it or something?"

Not that she was really opposed to practicing. Maybe someone would actually want to kiss her one day and it would be nice to know how. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, waiting for Niall to touch them with his. She waited. And waited. Finally, she opened an eye and saw that he was doubled up, laughing silently, his shoulders shaking.

"Niall, you…you lizard, stop laughing at me!" she hissed, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Not that she wasn't used to be laughed at, just not by her friends.

"Sorry, but I see what you mean about looking like a fish," he finally managed around another fit of laughter.

Soon they were both laughing and then, unexpectedly, he leaned across the gap that separated them and put his lips on her mouth. Unfortunately she was still laughing and he kissed her teeth, which made them both fall into another bout of laughter.

"Who is it you're practicing for?" she asked when she had finally caught her breath again.

"I'm not saying because you'll just tease me or tell her. You're really bad at keeping secrets."

"I am not!" she exclaimed, feeling indignant at the accusation.

"Please, Joss, have you met yourself?" Niall asked, rolling his eyes. She rolled hers right back at him and added a glare when she was done.

"Let's just practice before the dinner bell rings."

"Fine, but be quick. I'm starving."

By the third try, Joss actually began to enjoy it a bit. Or at least she wasn't ready to smack him again. That had to mean something.

"Now, try it with your mouth open a little bit," Niall instructed.

Joss felt her eyebrow rise up and she put her hands on her hips. "What? Why?"

Niall rolled his eyes again. "Do you have to argue with everything?" he groused.

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Ha! You argue about the color of the sky," he retorted.

Joss's hands curled into fists. "I do not!"

"Do so!"

"Do not!"

"Oh, just open your mouth and close your eyes and hush!"

"Fine, but then I'm done."

She closed her eyes and opened her mouth and then felt something soft and warm trying to push its way past her teeth. She clamped down on it and heard a strangled scream from Niall. She opened her mouth and eyes at the same time, to see Niall stagger back, holding his hand over his mouth, his fingers bloody.

"Mah tahg!" he wailed.

"What? What happened?" she asked, running over to him and trying to help but he shook her away.

"Ooh 'it mah tahg!" he howled.

What in Andraste's ass did that mean? What was a mahtagh? Finally he cast a healing spell and she watched the pale white wisp of his spell, trying to understand what was going on.

"You bit my tongue!" he accused, glaring at her.

"That was your tongue? Well, why didn't you warn me you were going to stick it in my mouth?" she shot back, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Ewww. Why would someone stick their tongue in someone else's mouth? She shuddered, as disgusted by that as she'd been the first time she's seen the Tower's mouser chewing on a mouse.

"The book says it's supposed to be nice," Niall responded and then stuck his tongue out, gingerly touching it. "It didn't say anything about biting it," he added, his expression sliding from outrage to gloom.

"Sorry, Melon. Next time, maybe warn a person, would you? And what book?"

"Young Lady Chattingham's Adventures."

Joss felt both of her eyebrows raise at that. "I thought First Enchanter Irving ordered that book burned."

Niall's gloom gave way to a grin. "Only the copy in the main library. There are several copies floating around. Do you want to borrow it?"

"Are you crazy? Not if it's about sticking things in someone else's mouth that shouldn't be there."

Another shudder shook her. What a horrible thought. And a stupid idea. "Come on, let's go get ready for dinner," she added, heading for the door.

"Can we practice again tomorrow?"

"All right, but keep your tongue in your own mouth."

At dinner, sitting across from Owain, Joss found herself wondering what it would be like to practice kissing with him. He glanced up from his bowl of stew and smiled at her and her stomach ran around in her like butterflies chasing butterflies.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"So, where is he and what dream should we give him?"

Josslyn looked around the flat, dull Fade and pointed to a small, green door leading into what appeared to be a walled garden. "He's in there and I'm not sure. Let's see what he's dreaming about and maybe it will help us figure it out."

The Fade was her favorite place and had been for as long as she could remember. Entering it, shaping it to suit her was more fun than anything in the normal world. Here she could glide, fly, run, create a snowstorm or recreate the only sunset she'd ever seen.

Joseph liked that Fadescape even more than the snow-covered fields of the Amell estate in Dragon's Peak. Probably because she really didn't remember her old home very well.

The gate opened quietly at her touch, and she and Joseph stepped into a garden filled with red and pink roses and bright white lilies. There were benches all around and she nudged Joseph, pointing to a man in a templar armor. "There's old Bucket-head," she whispered, pulling her brother forward.

They crouched behind a tall rosebush and watched for a few minutes. Haggerty stood up and carefully removed his helm, setting it on the bench. He hair was flattened by the helm and a bright orangey-red in color. She hadn't expected that. At. All. She heard steps coming from behind her and she ducked lower, hoping not to be seen.

A young woman, wearing a flowing blue gown, went hurrying past Josslyn and Joseph. Joss was thankful for the hiding place, poking her head above the rosebush to watch what was happening.

"You really did it, didn't you? What about us?" the young woman asked.

She had a husky voice, the kind that came with crying. Joss suddenly wished they hadn't come. She glanced at Joseph, who nodded his head. They turned to leave the Fadescape and then halted as Haggerty spoke.

"I had to, after what that apostate did to your father. Someone has to watch them."

Joss stood still, unable to move now because her curiosity overcame her sense, as Senior Enchanter Wynne liked to say.

"Don't do this, my love. Stay here, with me," the young woman said, and Joss could practically hear the tears in her voice.

Suddenly Josslyn's skin felt like it was trying to crawl off her body and she gripped Joseph's hand. "Let's go," she whispered.

"One more minute, Joss. I haven't seen his face yet."

With her hand still gripping Joseph's, she watched as Haggerty slowly turned to face the woman in the flowing blue gown. She couldn't help it. A gasp just rose up and sailed out of her mouth. Haggerty looked at her and she couldn't turn her eyes away from him, even though she tried. He blinked in surprise and his face turned the color of boiled turnips. Except for the scar on his face. It stayed pink, and ran from his temple to his chin. His left eye was puckered by the same scar.

He blinked and shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. She knew just how he felt.

"Let's go. Now!" she said, tugging Joseph's hand and running. The garden disappeared and they were standing in the raw Fade again.

"Wow, I didn't expect that. At. All," Joseph mumbled and he looked as ragged as she felt.

Joss nodded and then waved at her brother as the Fade began to shimmer, indicating that they were both on the verge of waking up.

She woke up then, but still felt as if her skin wanted to crawl away from her. Not that she blamed it. She felt as small as it was possible to feel. It was the first time, in all the times she'd done it, that she was sorry she knew how to enter the Fade, and she was especially sorry that she'd found his dream.

Old Bucket-head avoided her for a week. If he saw her coming, he turned and went the other way. Joss, who didn't normally apologize unless forced to, wanted to apologize to him in the worst way, but she couldn't without everyone in the Tower knowing how she could bend the Fade and she didn't think the templars would be happy about her ability. At. All.

Ten days after the incident, she noticed that Ser Haggerty was nowhere to be found. She marched right up to Knight Commander Greagoir and asked him where he was, but she was pretty sure she already knew.

"He's gone to Highever, where he's from. He was never comfortable here. He'll probably be much happier serving in the chantry there," Greagoir explained with a shake of his head. "Some people just aren't built for the Tower."

Joss watched Ser Greagoir walk away and then she looked at the vacant spot where Ser Haggerty should be standing guard. She blinked several times, wondering why she felt like crying. But, deep down, she knew.

Standing alone, the noise of the mages sounding far away, Joss made a vow never to enter someone's dream again without telling them ahead of time. Or at least do her best not to. Never say never, as Petra said.

"Hey, Joss! Come on! Time for Potions class!"

Instead of running to catch up, she whispered, "This is for you, Ser Bucket-head," and quietly walked down the hall to class.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** _Another year has passed_. _Joss and Joseph are now thirteen. Niall is fifteen, and Owain is sixteen.  
>Thank you, Lisa, for all your help!<em>

**Three**

Rummaging around in her trunk for her extra quill, Joss pushed aside the yellowed letter with the faded red seal holding it closed. Maker's balls, why did she still have that? She blinked, running a finger along its brittle edges, looking at the childish block letters.

Three times a year the mages were permitted to write letters to their families. Joss had only written to her family once, when she was seven, and her writing had still been uneven and blocky. The letter had been returned, unopened, and the senior enchanter who oversaw the youngest mages had told her she need not write again. Joss had been too young to do more than nod and take the letter, but the senior enchanter had patted her head lightly, giving her a smile.

Joss still had the letter, but she had no idea why she'd kept it. It was tucked into her trunk with all her other little treasures: a faded ribbon the same color as the rosemary growing in pots in the herbalarium, a tattered copy of her first spellbook, a pair of silver combs that had been in her hair the day she'd come to the tower, and assorted bric-a-brac that had captured her imagination at some point and whose meaning was now lost to her.

"Joss! Come on!" Joseph urged impatiently.

The lid of the trunk made a loud thud as she let it fall from her hands and she stood up, smiling. "Keep your robes on, Joey! There's plenty of time," she said with a grin. Which died when she heard the bell begin to toll.

"Or not. Let's go!"

It did not pay to be late for Lucian Caravel's class. It did not pay, in fact, to upset the man in any way. Joss had learned that very early on, and it was one of the first things she'd warned Joseph about. Joseph hadn't quite believed her until he'd sat in his first Potions class.

Lucian Caravel was just about to shut the door to his classroom when they came careening around the corner at a full run. They slid into their seats, and Joss offered the dark-haired, dark-skinned man a smile.

"Bad things happen in threes," he intoned as he made his way to the head of the class.

Joss thought that he sounded quite cheerful about that information. Or maybe, Joss thought with a shiver, he just liked to scare his students. He was certainly good at it, as half the class looked afraid and the other half looked downright terrified. And she couldn't, for the life of her, understand what his comment had to do with a class about potions and remedies.

Joss was one of very few apprentices who actually liked Lucian Caravel. He was thin and tall, his features as pointy as the end of the blade of mercy that all templars carried. Even his little black beard came to a sharp point. In fact, the only things not pointy on him were his eyebrows, thick and dark like the caterpillars that Senior Enchanter Ines cultivated in her herbalarium.

Rumors surrounded the man, probably because, as Owain pointed out, he was an enigma, wrapped in a riddle and surrounded by darkness. She wasn't quite sure she understood what an enigma was, but if Owain meant he was mysterious, she would agree. He wasn't cruel or truly evil, just enough so to make most of the mages nervous and afraid.

He wasn't a mage, he claimed; just very clever at potions, elixirs, poultices and remedies. Well, that made sense to Joss's way of thinking since that's what he taught. But he could do things with potions that seemed like magic, and were sometimes even better than magic.

She didn't believe him when he said he wasn't a mage. He was a mage, she was sure of it. He just didn't use mana like most mages did. She didn't think she wanted to know what he used instead.

"Huh. Didn't Sweeney tell us that good things come in threes?" Niall asked in a whisper, leaning in close.

"Maybe his idea of bad things is Sweeney's idea of good things? Or vice versa," she whispered back, shrugging.

"Ah, Apprentice Niall, you have some hitherto unknown, but insightful, comment to add to our discussion of remedies?" Lucian Caravel asked in a voice that was guaranteed to make Niall's tongue freeze to the roof of his mouth. Maker knew _her_ tongue felt that way, and she actually liked the man.

Joss could hear Niall gulp as the class waited for him to answer, and, when he didn't, Joss spoke up. "I was just asking him a question, Ser Lucian, and he was answering."

"My, my, Apprentice Josslyn, you are such a curious little mageling, aren't you? Did you find his answer _elucidating_?"

Joss had no idea what the word meant but she was fairly certain that she should say 'yes' whether she understood the meaning of the word or not. "Yes, ser."

"Splendid. I'm sure the entire class is on tenterhooks waiting for you to share this new knowledge with us."

Now it was Josslyn's turn to gulp. Her thoughts flailed about willy-nilly as she tried to come up with a response. She heard Merrisoo snicker, the only sound in the room, as everyone waited for her to speak. Finally, her mind grabbed a thought and slapped it on her tongue.

"I asked him if the cook was making apple tarts today since he's on kitchen duty this week, ser."

Laughter erupted from the students and Joss felt her shoulders relax. The only one not laughing was Merrisoo, who clicked her tongue in a disapproving manner. Joss reflected that Merrisoo was in danger of becoming a smaller version of Wynne, which wasn't a compliment. At. All.

"And what was his answer?" Lucian Caravel asked, his dark eyes narrowed at her.

As Joss had actually asked that question of Niall earlier, she was happy to report that apple tarts would, indeed, be served with supper. She was also relieved because Joseph had recently told her that her eyes always opened too wide and slid to the left when she told a lie. As she looked at Lucian Caravel's pointy beard, she tried to keep her eyes steady and their normal size. There was no way she was going to look in his eyes. There was a rumor that he was a mesmer, and she didn't want to find out by being…well…mesmerized.

"I'm sure we're all aflutter at the prospect of apple tarts. Now, perhaps, you'd care to tell the class what ingredients are necessary for an elixir of renewal?"

Joss puffed out her chest, grinning. Potions, Elixirs, Poultices and Remedies was her favorite class. Lucian Caravel had once told them that he could teach them how to make a healing potion using nothing more than steeped tea, dirty socks and hay. Joss was determined to learn, not because she ever thought she'd need the information, but because it didn't sound possible.

"Bark from a live oak tree, spirit of camphor and crushed thyme leaves."

"Exactly so. And what are the proportions?" he asked, spinning around and pointing a long, skinny finger at Petra, who looked petrified.

Joss could almost see the answer fly out of Petra's head. Lucian Caravel had a way of doing that to even his brightest pupils. Petra blinked and her mouth opened and closed several times. Without a thought for the consequences, because she was too impulsive, according to just about everyone, Joss began to tap the table. Three raps of her knuckles on the table to indicate how many strips of bark were necessary.

Petra looked down at her hands, which were clasped so tightly that Joss was expecting to hear the sound of bones crunching. Joss tapped the table again, wondering if she would ever learn how to whistle properly because now would be a good time to do it.

"Three strips of bark!" Petra fairly shouted and then fell silent again, a frown pulling her brows low.

Joss coughed. Once. Twice. Halfway through the third cough she stopped, offering a smile of apology to Lucian Caravel. "Sorry, something got stuck in my throat," she said around her smile.

"I imagine so. Perhaps the answer?" he asked.

She couldn't tell if he was enjoying her discomfort or not, but she suspected he was because there was a hint of a smile hiding behind his beard. Before she could answer, Petra spoke up in a voice full to the brim with relief.

"Three strips of bark, two and one-half drops of spirit of camphor and the powder from four crushed leaves of thyme!"

"Thank you, Apprentice Petra. Your ability to count does you credit."

For the remainder of the class, Joss tried very hard to sit still and behave. It wasn't easy as he began to discuss the healing properties of barley. Apprentice Poppins kept interrupting to ask the dumbest questions that Joss had ever heard about the temperature barley was best grown at and what type of barley was best. Who cared, really? She couldn't help it, she yawned. And, once she'd yawned, another student yawned. And another. Joseph glared at her and yawned. She giggled. And yawned again.

"Perhaps it is time you all took out your quills and vellum. I suspect an essay on the merits of barley would stir your blood," Lucian Caravel said in that cold, calm way of his.

He walked back to the front of the classroom without another word. Joss rolled her eyes at Poppins, who treated her to an impressive sneer. Joss made a rude gesture with three fingers, just as Old Phinneus had taught her.

Unfortunately, Lucian Caravel decided to turn and look at the class again, his caterpillar brows rising up like they were going to fly away. He was not happy. At. All. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the bell began to toll, announcing the end of morning classes.

"You have my permission to leave."

Joss heaved a sigh of relief as she stood up. Lucian Caravel was known to make misbehaving students clean the floor of the classroom with a tiny brush when he was angry with them, which took hours and hours. Or so others said. She'd never actually misbehaved in his class. Well, except for now.

"Except for Apprentice Josslyn. I noticed a few spots on the floor and I very much fear for their lives."

_Oh yes, he's so very clever, that Lucian Caravel. No wonder everyone likes him so much. Oh wait! No they don't! _

Shoulders slumping, Joss watched as her friends gathered their belongings and prepare to leave her to her tedious task. Joseph patted her arm on his way by and Niall whispered a word of encouragement and Petra, one of apology. Not that any of them stayed to help her, the wretched buggers. Merrisoo smirked and tossed her perfect blonde ringlets as she passed Josslyn. Joss promised herself that she would make the perfect little mage regret that smirk.

As she knelt on the hard stone floor with her small brush in one hand, she tried not to feel sorry for herself. It wasn't easy, and when Lucian Caravel heard her mumble a curse, he took her small brush from her and gave her a _tiny_ brush. She glanced up at him as he sat at his desk and she was surprised. She was expecting to see one of his gloating little sneers and instead he looked a bit sad.

"You have a gift for alchemy and would make a fine apothecary, Josslyn. It's a shame to see it wasted on those less talented. Some day you may come to regret your decision to assist those who have no aptitude in the field."

Joss scrubbed more vigorously, trying to hold back the angry spill of words that tumbled around in her mouth. Not only was he insulting her friends, he was also telling her she wasn't smart enough to learn if she was helping her friends.

"Bollocks. I can do both." The words just fell out of her mouth and seemed to hang in the air, waiting for Lucian Caravel to swat them down. Which he did.

"Your arrogance does you no credit, Josslyn. What if you had to choose between helping one friend and learning something that would help a great many people?"

Well, what kind of a question was that? She lived in a tower, surrounded by healers. She blinked, sitting back on her heels, the tiny brush clenched in her fist. "I'm a mage of the Circle, Ser Lucian Caravel. The chances of me ever helping anyone, other than my fellow mages and friends, are as tiny as this brush," Joss said.

It was hard to tell who was more surprised by her sassing him. She tried very hard not to cringe once her tongue finally fell silent. The traitor.

"You underestimate yourself, Josslyn. I foresee your name becoming quite well-known one day. In fact, to that end, I suggest you spend this evening practicing your full name. I expect no less than three hundred times should do the trick."

His dark eyes seemed to look right through her and she shivered, wishing that she was anywhere else in the Tower at that moment. Except maybe in the basement, listening to Old Mendric's singing. Lucian Caravel really was a creepy crawly in his own right, she decided, scrubbing the floor with angry little swipes. And mean.

It took three hours to clean the floor to his satisfaction. Josslyn's knees and back felt like they were permanently twisted, and her stomach was grumbling for food. She went straight to the dining hall, but lunch was over. Of course it was over. And probably delicious, knowing Cook Killdare. She wandered into the kitchen and found Niall sitting at a table, peeling apples. She sank down beside him, tired and out of sorts.

"Lucian Caravel is dispictable," she muttered.

"Despicable," Niall corrected, nudging her shoulder as he peeled.

"That's what I said. And did you see Merrisoo's little smirking face? Someone needs to take her lips and twist them into a knot and then freeze them."

"Ah, she's all right," Niall said, his cheeks becoming as red as the apples he was peeling.

Joss reached over and snatched a peeling, biting in to it with relish. Her stomach wasn't all that impressed, however; it just grumbled louder. "I don't know how anyone as smart as you are can like someone as prissy as Merrisoo."

The blush darkened and looked more purple than red. For a minute Joss thought he was going to pass out. That much color in the face wasn't healthy, at least it didn't look healthy.

"She isn't that bad, not like Owain."

"Bastard," Joss muttered, rolling the word around on her tongue. She liked the sound of it, even though she knew he wasn't really a bastard. Still, whenever she heard one of the senior mages using it, she couldn't help but smile and want to use it herself. It just flowed off the tongue.

"Bitch," Niall replied with a grin.

They bumped shoulders and fell silent. It wasn't until Niall finished peeling the large pile of apples that Josslyn's mind began to turn over evil thoughts of retribution. It didn't get very far before her stomach complained again and forced her thoughts to turn to food.

"Do you think Cook Killdare would notice if I took some bread and cheese?"

Niall shook his head. "Lucian Caravel said you weren't to be given lunch, that your attitude would keep you from starving. Whatever that means. First Enchanter Irving was standing there when he said it and agreed. Sorry, Joss. Here, have another peel."

Lucian Caravel was right. Bad things came in threes. Her stomach rumbled.

~~~oOo~~~

There were only three people in the library when Joss began her writing assignment. Two of them left and then Owain came in, sitting at a desk not far from her. She found it very difficult to concentrate but she concentrated on concentrating and that seemed to help.

"Here, Josslyn, let me help you," Owain said, standing over her and resting a hand on her shoulder.

Joss's stomach fluttered and dipped and she felt quivery all over. He never touched anyone. It made him feel uncomfortable, he said. But here, with the lamps lowered in the library because it was getting late, he didn't seem to mind much.

"Thank you, Owain, but Lucian Caravel probably knows my writing. I've only got another hundred to go, anyway."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and then bent down to whisper, "I can copy anyone's writing, Josslyn. He'll never know."

His breath tickled her skin but instead of pulling away and giggling like she usually did when someone's breath tickled her, she smiled and wanted to scoot her chair closer to him. Which was silly because he was sixteen and spoke in a deep voice, and was quite handsome, and she was only thirteen. He was heaps older than her and she knew for a fact that Apprentice Aerica, who was fifteen and _experienced_ - whatever that meant - liked him. What hope did she have when compared to Aerica?

She felt as disappointed as it was possible to feel when he went back to his desk. She bent her head back over her vellum and dipped her quill in the inkpot. Of course he didn't want to help. But then her heart and stomach fluttered because he brought his quill and vellum and chair over to her desk and scooted her chair to the side to make room for him.

"Your name is quite pretty, you know."

Joss looked at him, thinking there might be some truth to the stories that he was just the wrong side of sane. Her name was ridiculous. Josslyn Winifred Amell. It was horrible and made her sound like a disease. It didn't sound soft or pretty or even clever.

"I like it," he continued as he wrote out her name.

Well, there was absolutely no reason for her heart and stomach to start dancing in her chest, but they did anyway. She found herself grinning and the harder she tried to suppress her grin, the broader it became.

"I heard that you like Niall. Is that true?" he asked a bit later.

Was he really crazy? Why would she like Niall? Sure, as a friend, but not in the other way, the way that made her want to practice kissing with Owain's pillow when he wasn't around. Not that she had. Well, once, but nobody had seen her so it didn't really count.

"He's my friend. We used to practice kissing, but only because he wanted…erm…he's a friend," she finished, a blush creeping all the way up from her toes to her eyebrows.

"Was it fun?" Owain asked, sounding as wistful as she felt at the thought of kissing him.

"With Niall? No. I – I bit his tongue," she confessed as the blush began to warm her cheeks with the heat of a thousand fires. Maker's bald head, could she be any dumber? She needed to tie her tongue in knots, that's what she needed to do with _her_ tongue.

"If you practiced with me would you bite my tongue?" Owain asked, as matter-of-fact as if he's asked her what day it was.

It took Josslyn a few minutes for her tongue to actually start working again. "Not if you warned me ahead of time," she finally said, wondering why her voice had become so quivery and husky.

"I would do that, but I'm not really sure why someone would stick their tongue in someone else's mouth. It doesn't sound very hygienic."

"I think it's probably just as hygienic as lips touching, just different."

"Maybe when we're done, you would show me?"

Joss surprised herself by not jumping out of her chair and grabbing him right then so they could find the nearest practice room, which was two doors down. Her heart was no longer dancing around in her chest. It was running around like a madman. Or maybe a madwoman.

She was surprised, an hour later, when he actually took her hand and walked to the practice room. Ser Bran, the templar who had taken Ser Haggerty's place, was standing at his post just across from the practice room. Joss liked Ser Bran: he seldom wore his bucket, almost never yelled and seemed very interested in magic.

"You two behave in there. I don't want to smite you," he warned them with a wink.

Owain looked solemnly at the templar and replied very seriously, "There will be no need for a smite, Ser Bran."

As soon as the door closed behind them, Joss felt her nerves jumping along her skin. Owain smiled at her and if it was just the littlest bit grim, she imagined her answering smile was just the littlest bit goofy.

"Close your eyes," she said and when he closed them, she stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his.

"Oh."

Maker's arse! Had she done it wrong? It had made her insides feel like warm, clotted cream, but he was frowning. "I'm sorry, Owain, I'm not very good at kissing."

"No, you're fine, Josslyn. I think I should put my arms around your waist, though. You seemed a bit tippy."

Joss thought that was a fine idea. She stepped closer and raised up on her toes again but Owain put his hands on her waist and bent his head down, his mouth slanted slightly. Oh yes, definitely better. And he had very soft lips.

"One more and then we should return to the dormitory."

She blinked. She'd be happy to stay in the practice room practicing all night. "All right, Owain. Are you enjoying it?" she asked, to her absolute disgust. She really needed to learn to hold her thoughts inside instead of just blurting them out.

Owain gave her a smile, a real smile that lit up his usually somber eyes. "I think so. May I stick my tongue in your mouth this time?"

Her heart exploded into a hundred little sparks that all decided to flutter in her chest at the same time when he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. She held as still as she could, afraid to scare him away, but her tongue insisted on touching his,and he seemed quite pleased by that.

That night, when sleep laughed at her, she stared into the dark. He had only kissed her three times but Andraste's baked arse, Sweeney was right.

Good things did come in threes.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you, Lisa, for all your work and beta-goodness.  
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**Redress**

Merrisoo made a noise that was not quite a snort and not quite a scoff. Joss and Joseph, sitting cross-legged on Joss's bed, were planning a trip to the Fade for that night, and upon hearing the sound, looked at each other, wearing identical grins.

"Would you call that a scorff or a snoff?" he asked her.

Joss giggled. "Definitely a snoff. Or maybe a snorff?"

Her giggles died away when Merrisoo proceeded to read aloud from a note she held in her hand.

"Dear Merrisoo,

"You're the prettiest girl in the Tower. I want to be your beau. Please say yes.

"Niall."

Joss was up and rushing towards the perfect mage, hands clenched into fists. Most of the mages were laughing, but Niall, his face brilliant red, was not laughing. Nor was Petra. She looked mad enough to send Merrisoo into the Beyond.

"Don't be silly, Niall," Merrisoo said with a laugh. "You're much too simple and uneducated to understand someone of my refined tastes."

Joss snatched the letter out of the mage's perfect little hand and gave Merrisoo a shove, sending the girl staggering backwards into an armoire. Ser Bran's metal gauntlet on the scruff of her neck was the only thing that stopped Joss from knocking Merrisoo onto her perfect arse.

"Apprentice Josslyn, there will be no fighting. Apprentice Merrisoo, I suggest you remove yourself to the library for the moment."

Joss, struggling against Bran's hold, glared after the retreating mage. "Let me go!" she urged hotly, trying to break his implacable grip. "I'll fry her like so many strips of bacon!"

"Apprentice Josslyn, I'm going to let go of you now, but if you move to follow her, we will be making a trip to see the First Enchanter."

"Fine by me, it's near the library," Joss retorted, still trying to shake his hand off. Maker's snout, he had an iron grip.

As if aware of her thoughts, he released his grip so suddenly that she went stumbling across the room. Once she had regained her balance, she went straight for the door. Niall's voice stopped her.

"No, Joss, it's all right," he mumbled.

Of course it wasn't all right! Maker's knobby knees, it was not all right at all! Merrisoo could have just quietly told him she wasn't interested. She didn't have to announce to an entire dormitory of mages that he wasn't perfect. She looked at Niall and then at the others. Joseph shook his head slightly, and Petra was twisting her hands.

"Apprentice Josslyn?" Bran enquired sternly, coming to hover over her like an anxious mother.

"Oh, fine. I won't fry her up like bacon. But may I at least punch her on her perfect little nose?" she asked, glaring up at the templar.

"No, you may not," he replied and then lowered his voice. "It will only serve to embarrass Apprentice Niall further should you do so," he said quietly.

Perfect. Given a dose of guilt, and she snapped right back into line. But the thought of mortifying one of her best friends made her queasy, and was not what she wanted to do. At. All. She wanted to show Merrisoo that she may _look_ perfect, but she was far from it on the inside. Reluctantly, she nodded and then went over and flung her arm around Niall.

"Don't listen to her, Niall. She's a scorffer. Scorffers don't know good when they see it."

But it took Josslyn a long time to get to sleep that night. There wasn't a nicer person in the whole Tower than Melon. He didn't deserve to be treated that way. And why did everyone think Merrisoo was perfect? She wasn't. She may pretend to be, and she might look that way, but she was as mean as Apprentice Poppins, just with words instead of pinches and punches. She finally fell asleep to an image of strips of bacon with Merrisoo's face on each one of them.

Two days of uneasy silence in the dormitory went by. Niall was withdrawn, and no matter what they did, they couldn't get him to smile. Merrisoo kept to the library when she wasn't in class, coming back to the dormitory in time for lights out. Joss spent as much time as she could glaring at Merrisoo, but a glare wasn't likely to teach the mage a lesson.

Joss, trying to sleep the second night after the scene, felt a hand placed over her mouth. Her eyes snapped open as she struggled against it, her heart trying to leap out of her chest. She tried to bite the hand, bringing her fist up, prepared to bean whoever it was, until she realized it was Joseph bending over her. He cautiously removed his hand, putting a finger to his lips, and gestured with his head to follow him. She slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the dressing room, where Niall and Petra awaited.

It was time to repay Merrisoo for humiliating Niall. And about time, as far as she was concerned. She gave him a smile that she hoped was reassuring, but was probably not, judging from his wild-eyed expression. She patted his arm and put her smile away, afraid she would scare him even more if it stayed where it was.

She wanted to freeze Merrisoo to her bed, but Niall wouldn't hear of it. Joss thought he was too nice for his own good; Petra and Joseph agreed. Something had to be done to show the snooty teen of perfection that she was a cruel and heartless twit.

"I say we get Kinnon to pretend to like her because she likes him," Petra whispered. She put a hand on Niall's arm. "Not to be mean or anything," she added with one of her bright smiles.

"Kinnon is too nice to do that. Even if he didn't like her, which he does, but not like she likes him, he wouldn't help. He doesn't do mean things. Ever," Joss replied in a hushed voice.

"I say we have Niall hit her with a sleep spell so she won't wake up, and then we trim her hair for her," Joseph said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

Merrisoo's perfect golden ringlets were a source of pride and joy. The idea was wicked. And mean. And perfect. Joss was impressed. And proud. Joseph's plans were always clever. And fun. She nodded her head so vigorously that the room started spinning, and she felt slightly sick to her stomach.

"Where will we put the hair? We can't burn it; that will stink up the place enough to wake everyone," Niall said, getting into the spirit of things.

Joss frowned, tapping her chin as she thought. Ah, she had it. "We'll put them under Poppins's pillow. He punched little Alim Surana in the stomach so hard that he fell down and couldn't breathe. It will serve him right for hurting the younger mages and getting away with it."

"But her hair is so pretty. Isn't there something else we can do?" Niall fretted quietly. Joss stared at her friend in disbelief.

"You're kidding, right? You want us to just go up to her, tap her on her wrist, and tell her to stop being mean to you?" Joss asked, her voice becoming louder with each word until Joseph clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Hush, you," he hissed. She blinked and nodded, shrugging sheepishly when he removed his hand.

"Where can we get the scissors?" Practical Petra asked.

"Owain has a pair. Wynne says he can be trusted not to run with them, whatever that means," Joseph answered.

"No. Don't ask him," Joss said quickly, this time shaking her head so vigorously she felt woozy.

"Awww, isn't that cute. She's trying to protect him," Petra sniggered.

Joss was just about to skewer Petra with her fiercest frown when she heard the chimes from the night bells begin to ring. The night bells were much softer than those that rang during the day, but they could still be heard in the quiet Tower. Her eyes widened and everyone held their breath as they counted. Twelve bells. It was time for the templars to swap shifts!

"Back to bed, quickly!" Niall urged in a panicked whisper.

Joss did not have to be told twice. She scampered across the dormitory on her tip-toes and jumped into her bed, pulled her covers up to her chin, and slammed her eyes shut. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that it sounded like someone thumping on the massive doors that separated the real world from the Tower.

As she lay in bed, pretending to sleep, she wondered if the templar coming on watch would hear her heart pounding from his post. She was pretty sure everyone else in the Tower could hear it crashing against her ribs. Trying to listen for the creak of armor-clad feet, all she could hear was her heart, which sounded like it had moved up to her ears. She kept her eyes closed tightly and waited. And waited. And waited. Usually the templar coming on duty would walk through the dormitory rooms, making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be. Like all the mages didn't know that was going to happen?

From the uneven squeak of greaves, she knew it was one of the new templars, Stoker, who was walking the aisles between the beds. New templars didn't realize that mages could actually hear things like squeaks and creaks. Sometimes it took them months to figure out why they never seemed to catch mages who were running amok in the Tower after hours.

The squeak was getting closer and Joss tried to keep her eyes from moving behind their lids, sure that any movement of _any_ kind would be a giveaway that she was still awake.

There was a pause right by her head and she could almost feel the templar's eyes on her. _Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't, don't, don't! _After what seemed like ages, the squeak moved away and then she heard him clear his throat and settle at his post across the hall from the dormitory.

Letting out a long, unsteady breath, she rolled out of her bed and crawled as quickly as she could back to the dressing room. The others were already there, waiting for her. They snickered at her as she stood up and brushed the dirt off her nightdress. She tossed her hair and pretended not to care. And then immediately wanted to apologize for doing anything that might remind Niall of Merrisoo's behavior.

"So, if not Owain, where do we get the scissors?" Petra asked.

"Niall, you're Wynne's pet. Go to the infirmary tomorrow, and tell her you want to practice cutting bandage strips. When you're done, slip the scissors into your pocket," Joseph instructed.

"I don't think I can do that," Niall said glumly.

"Whatever it takes, Niall," Joss admonished and then poked him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. You're a lot sneakier than you think you are."

"Uhm, thanks?" Niall said, but she saw that he wasn't looking quite so glum.

"Here's the plan," Joseph continued, as they huddled together, "Tomorrow, Niall gets the scissors and puts them under my pillow. As soon as it's safe, probably after ten bells, we'll meet here. Niall will put Merrisoo to sleep, I'll cut her hair, and Joss will put the hair under Poppins's pillow. Petra, you'll keep watch."

"There is a problem with your plan, Joseph," Owain whispered. Joss nearly jumped out of her skin, and she gave a startled yelp of surprise. The others reacted with even more surprise. But beyond her surprise was a great big lump of happiness that he was there to help them.

"Owain, you should be asleep," Petra said in an odd wheezy voice. She was still looking frayed around the edges by his sudden appearance.

"As should you all," he agreed solemnly.

"Owain," Joss began, but Owain shook his head, stopping her voice in its tracks.

"You seek redress. I will help, if only to keep you from a trip to the hot seat," he told her firmly.

Josslyn blinked, stunned by his decision, and pleased as could be that he was there. She finally thought to nod, unable to speak around the butterflies that were fluttering around in her chest, although she had no idea why he thought they were looking for a red dress.

There were times when he was too strange for even her to understand. But she thought it was sweet that he didn't want her to get into trouble again.

The hot seat was the chair directly in front of the First Enchanter's desk. When a mage misbehaved and was sent to his office, they sat in the chair, which First Enchanter Irving gradually warmed until the mage was squirming and confessing a multitude of crimes. Joss was quite familiar with the chair. Twice she had been caught trying to counter the effects with her own frost spells. It had not been a pleasant experience. At. All.

"If you put the hair under Poppins's pillow, it won't be seen by anyone else but Poppins, unless you wait to put it there three nights from tonight," he stated quietly.

Joss stared at the others, trying to puzzle out why it would make a difference and then it hit her, a smack to her brain that made her grin. "Linen exchange," she breathed, beaming.

"Linen exchange," he concurred and smiled softly. "Now, I suggest we go back to bed."

They nodded and went through the secret oath-swearing ritual with each other: a series of shoulder bumps, a few shakes of their behinds, and two eyebrow waggles. Owain looked baffled by their behavior, and, for a minute, Joss felt sorry for him because he couldn't bring himself to join in on the fun. But then he winked at her, a stealthy shift in his expression that she almost missed. He _could _have fun, just not like the others. It made her smile as she scampered back to her bed.

**~~~oOo~~~**

The next three days passed with all the speed of a three-legged turtle, which Tubs now was, thanks to an accident. Joss had trouble paying attention in her classes, which irritated Wynne no end. Irritating Wynne was like getting an unexpected second helping of dessert. Joss was more than happy about that unforeseen boon.

Lucien Caravel gave her extra work for missing a question completely. It wasn't that she didn't know the answer, she simply never heard him ask the question to begin with.

Naturally, Merrisoo was quick with the answer, her snooty little nose turned up in the air. Joss couldn't wait to pay her back. Well, she could, but she sure didn't want to.

And then, finally, it was time for lights out on the third night. Joss was much too excited to sleep. Her eyes refused to close and her insides felt shaky, but mostly, she was eager to avenge her friend. She lay in bed listening to the sounds around her: the comforting creak of armor, the rustle of shifting blankets, and the gentle snores coming from Kinnon's bunk.

As the last note of the tenth bell echoed into silence, Joss rolled out of bed and crept into the changing room, pausing every few seconds to make sure Ser Bran wasn't moving from his post. The others followed quickly, although she was disappointed not to see Owain among them.

They waited until Ser Bran moved off to make his rounds before they crept back into the room. It amazed Joss that an Order renowned for its mage-hunting abilities was so predictable in their habits. At ten minutes past every hour the guard on duty would walk the hall, checking to make sure all the doors that should be shut were, and all the doors that shouldn't be shut weren't. It was insulting that they thought mages were dumb enough not to notice those kinds of things.

None of them expected Merrisoo's golden locks to be woven into a thick braid. Niall sent a panicked look at Joseph, whose smile was like a beacon in the dark room. Joss gave him an encouraging nod and Niall's hands glowed as his sleep spell took shape. Joseph sawed and sawed on the braid before he held it up triumphantly, waving it at Joss. She fought back the giggles, biting her lip to stifle them.

Taking the braid, which was eerily warm, she tip-toed over to Poppins's bed, fervently wishing he didn't sleep in the upper bunk. Reaching up, she felt for the mage's pillow beneath her fingers, and raised a corner of it slightly to slip the fat braid underneath.

Poppins took that moment to roll over, flinging his arm across his body. It caught her on the top of her head, so hard it made little lights dance in the darkness.

The only reason she didn't cry out in pain was because she was already biting her lip to keep the giggles at bay. The knock to her noggin chased those giggles right out of her head. She remained as stiff as the statue of Andraste that stood in the great hall, waiting for him to wake up screaming bloody murder. Not that she was actually murdering anyone. Yet. She couldn't promise not to if Poppins sat up and started yelling.

They all met back in the changing room a moment later, clapped each other on the back for a mission carried out successfully, and then scuttled back to bed. It took Joss a long time to fall asleep, mostly because she was pretty sure her head was broken.

Morning came with a shriek. Because she was still waking up, Joss was sure the Tower was being invaded by shades and demons. Lots of them. It was, in fact, Merrisoo. Joss was just about to warn her that living in the Tower, surrounded by templars just waiting to kill anything even resembling a demon, was not the place to make such sounds, when her shrieking abruptly stopped. That couldn't be good.

Joss propped herself up on her elbow, watching the scene unfold. It was much better than any book she'd ever read. She glanced across the room to see Joseph, face shining with glee, clutching his sides. She glanced at Merrisoo, noticing for the first time just how short her hair was. She stuffed nearly her entire fist in her mouth trying not to laugh. Even Niall, who was calmly standing beside Petra, was smiling.

Templars, armor clanking and clanging like a pile of pots and pans, came running into the room, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Merrisoo, pointing a shaking finger at her, screeched, "Joss did this! She cut my hair!"

Joss was immediately reminded of Kinnon's brief desire to learn to play the bagpipes earlier in the year, and instinctively covered her ears. Once she knew they were safe, she responded to the accusation.

"I most certainly did not cut your hair!" she denied emphatically. Which was true. She _hadn't_ cut Merrisoo's hair, Joseph had.

"You mages strip your linen and prepare for class," Knight-Commander Greagoir instructed in a grim voice. Oh wonderful, the one person she did not want to disappoint was looking at her with grave disappointment. Joss smiled at him. He did not smile in return.

"Josslyn, explain yourself," Wynne demanded, coming into the room right behind Greagoir.

Andraste's flaming knickers! Did the whole world need to come in and point fingers at her? Joss huffed, about to protest her innocence, when Owain spoke up, his voice almost animated.

"Apprentice Poppins, is that Merrisoo's braid in your hand?"

If Joss lived to be a hundred years old she would never forget the pandemonium that broke out next. It was all she could do not to howl with laughter, and, as it was, more than a few chuckles escaped her. She looked over at Niall, whose grin stretched practically from ear to ear.

Merrisoo was stomping her perfect little foot and trying to toss her perfect little ringlets. Joss wandered if she would actually hurt her neck trying to toss what was no longer there. Poppins was trying to fob off the braid on anyone who would take it, but the other mages were busy ignoring most of it, many wearing secret little smiles as they went about preparing for the day. Wynne wore such a disappointed look that Joss almost felt sorry for the woman. Almost.

She should probably feel guilty. She didn't. Not even a little. She realized the only remorse she felt was for upsetting Knight-Commander Greagoir, and if she could think of a way to make it up to him, she would. Having experienced more than one lesson learned the hard way, she thought it was probably the only way _some_ lessons could be learned.

It was three months before Merrisoo's hair grew out enough for even tiny little ringlets. The same length of time that Poppins was assigned to laundry duty.

Joss considered that a win-win situation.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **_Thank you, Lisa, for your help and your quick beta!  
>Also, this jumps back in time a bit from the previous chapters. That will happen from time to time with this story. <em>

**Caper**

It all started because Joss was trying to cheer Joseph up. Their eleventh birthday was approaching and individual birthdays weren't celebrated in the Tower. The reason, Greagoir had once explained, was because most of the mages in the Tower didn't actually know when their birthdays were. That sounded reasonable to Joss, who hadn't known when _her_ birthday was until Joseph had told her shortly after his arrival. Instead, every year, on First Day, there was a celebration and every mage turned a year older.

For those who actually _knew_ the date of their birth it probably wasn't all that great; at least Joseph didn't think so. As the day neared, he became more and more gloomy, which made Joss feel bad. She loved when Joseph was happy, especially when he laughed: his whole face lit up as if he'd swallowed a lamp, and his laughter reverberated in his chest like thunder rumbling against the Tower during a storm.

Sometimes, when he laughed, Joss could almost hear her father's laugh inside her. Once, she'd even remembered what he looked like: big and jovial, with brown eyes and dark hair and a mustache that tickled when he kissed her. But then, the memory was gone, and she was never quite sure if it was a real memory or just wishful thinking.

"You'll never finish if you can do naught but stare at the pans, Josslyn."

Joss blinked and looked up at Cook Killdare, who was smiling down at her. Joss grinned and picked up another pan, swiping her drying towel across its shiny surface. "Cook Killdare, you like Joseph, don't you?"

"There's no reason not to," the cook responded.

Well, that was true. Joseph got in half the trouble Joss did, and he was always helpful, which she wasn't. Not that she was against helping people; she just didn't notice them most of the time. She watched out for Joseph and he seemed to watch out for everyone else.

"You know his birthday is in three days and I thought maybe I could bake him a special treat?" Joss asked in a rush. Cook Killdare was a nice person. Usually. But if her bunions were acting up, or her lumbago, she was as cross as a cat in a hat.

"Well, aren't you a goodly sister. And a fair coincidence that your birthday is also in three days," the cook said with a great shout of laughter. Joss was pretty sure she heard the glasses clinking and wobbling in the cupboard, but she laughed too, even though she wasn't sure why she was laughing.

"I won't be cooking that day, young mage. I'll be off to visit with my sister. Undercook Bobbitt will be on duty that day. Best speak with her."

Joss sighed. Undercook Bobbitt was rumored to have whacked off her husband's plonker on account of his making hay with a farmer's daughter. Joss wasn't sure what a plonker was, although she thought it must have something to do with growing because he was a farmer, and it sounded sensible for him to make hay with a farmer's daughter. She was pretty sure that's what farmers actually did: grew hay. Still, Undercook Bobbitt was just a bit on the wrong side of kind. She wasn't mean, necessarily, just not kind.

When Joss approached her the morning of Joseph's birthday, the undercook surprised Joss with her willingness to make something special for Joseph. Of course, she wanted something in return. Joss, determined to make Joey's birthday special, asked what it was the undercook wanted.

"I'm out of essence of cinnamon oil. Lucian Caravel should have some; he just won't be willing to part with it. Leastways not for me. Bring me the essence and I'll make some nice apple tarts for Joseph."

Apple tarts? Joss thought that was a splendid idea; they were his favorite dessert. She finished drying her pile of pots and pans and went off to find Lucian Caravel, avoiding Joseph lest she give away the secret treat Bobbitt was going to prepare just for him. She hurried up the stairs and down the long, curved hallway to the Potions classroom. Lucian Caravel was sitting at his desk and looked up at her suspiciously when she entered.

"Why have you come?"

Joss gulped, her reason flying out of her head. He looked as angry as a sack of honeybees. She shivered, remembering the time Ser Hendricks had decided to bring some of Beekeeper Muncie's honeybees into the Tower to scare Ser Fauntleroy. The bees had been very, very angry. Just like Lucian Caravel was now. Still, Joseph was going to, by the Maker's pointy arse, get his treat. Joss straightened her shoulders.

"The cook needs essence of cinnamon oil. Ser," she added hastily, hiding her hands behind her back because they wanted to twist and turn nervously, and Lucian Caravel didn't like nervous people. Especially not nervous apprentices.

He set aside his quill and stood up, towering over Joss, dark eyes boring into her. "And just why did the cook not come herself?"

Another gulp was forced from Joss. "She's very busy with…with…uh…_cookly_ things," she finally blurted out.

"_Cookly_ things? I suppose it isn't unreasonable for a cook to be involved with _cookly_ things. However," he continued, just as Josslyn's hopes were on the rise. She felt them dashed to the floor at the way he drew out his word and then skewered her with his eyes.

"I'm in need of chickweed for a new _decoction_," he said, tapping his cheek. The way he said 'decoction' made Joss shiver because it sounded evil, and mysterious, and she didn't want to know what the decoction was because he was likely to make her taste it if she asked about it. So, of course, she did.

"What kind of decoction?"

Traitor! Her tongue was a traitor! She probably looked all bug-eyed because Lucian Caravel threw his head back and laughed. Which didn't make him sound like a crazy person at all. Oh wait. Yes it did. She shivered and took two large steps backwards, which amused him even more.

"A decoction of chickweed, according to Alchemist Dimentiaria's treatise, helps prevent obesity. I've noticed several of the Senior Enchanters are becoming quite overweight as they age and this might be the answer to the problem."

"Wouldn't cutting back on dessert do the same thing?" Joss asked before she could stop herself. Really, she just needed to have her lips stitched together.

Eyes narrowed, Lucian Caravel looked down his long, pointed nose at her. "Go and get some chickweed from Senior Enchanter Ines. Do this for me and I'll fulfill the cook's request."

Joss spun on her heel and walked out of the room. Very, very quickly. So quickly that it was nearly a run. Nearly. She heard Lucian Caravel's laughter following her so she sped up the steps until she was running.

Ines, the Tower's botanist, was standing in the herbalarium, humming to herself. Or maybe to her plants. Joss didn't want to know which, and, for once, her tongue actually obeyed her.

"Yes, Josslyn, what is it?" Ines asked impatiently. Everyone in the Tower knew Ines cared about one thing - and one thing only - botany.

Joss liked Ines, mostly because Ines disliked Wynne. The rumor was that Ines and Wynne had once had a storm-clash over a male mage and Wynne had won. Joss wasn't sure that was true, because Ines didn't like preaching people who thought they knew everything there was to know about everything in the world. Or at least Senior Enchanter Ines had said as much one day, having forgotten that Joss was busy staking elfroot stalks at the time.

People were always remarking on Senior Enchanter Ines's dry wit. Joss didn't understand what that meant, unless it was the opposite of wet wit, but that didn't make much sense because she wasn't sure what wet wit was. Still, she enjoyed when Ines made snide comments about Wynne in such a way that made it difficult to tell if it was a compliment or an insult.

"Lucian Caravel sent me for some chickweed, Senior Enchanter Ines."

"Chickweed, is it? Well, he's a day late and a sovereign short. Not that he isn't short in other departments, as well. Unfortunately for him, I've just given the last of my chickweed to Torres."

Disappointment made Josslyn's stomach sink. Senior Enchanter Torres was often confused with Torrin by new apprentices, and Joss never understood why. They were as different as lard and butter. Torrin was always immaculate, articulate and punctual. His dark hair was always arranged in very neatly-braided rows. She'd heard Sweeney once say that they reminded him of Farmer Dell's tidy rows of corn, but as Joss had never seen rows of corn, she had no idea if that was accurate.

Torres usually looked like he'd been in a fight with a bramble bush and lost. He was never on time to class, was easily confused by questions about the entropic arts, which he taught, and laughed uproariously when a student's Disorient spell made the whole class wander around in a daze, bumping into each other. Joss reckoned he'd cast that spell on himself one time too many.

"Here, take these dried rashvine plants to him and tell him they'll do for his purposes."

_Andraste's hairy armpits!_ Couldn't anyone in the Tower manage anything on their own? Sighing, Joss took the rashvine plants and left, going in search of Torres. She found him sitting in his classroom, his bright red hair sticking out in all directions, his robes grimy and… Maker's moldy beard! His robes were inside out. Joss tried very hard not to giggle but it was impossible.

"Ah, Josslyn, what brings you to my classroom?"

Joss waved the rashvine plants at him. "Ines says she gave you the wrong plants and you're to use these, instead."

Torres nodded absently and returned to reading his book. Joss looked around the room and saw no chickweed anywhere. "So, if I can just get the chickweed, I'll be on my way."

Torres nodded absently again, not bothering to look at her. "Have at it," he mumbled.

"Erm…where exactly is the chickweed?"

"I'm sorry, why are you here again?"

"Rashvine exchange?" Joss reminded, waving the rashvine at him again.

"Right. Take as much of the rashvine as you need, young lady."

Frustrated, Joss shook the rashvine harder, showering herself with the small seeds of the plant. "I need to exchange these for the _chickweed_," she explained very slowly, in a very quiet voice, even though she wanted to shout it from the top of the Tower.

"Well, of course you do. Help yourself."

Joss rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. "Where is it?" she asked again.

"In Rudolpho's Entropic Rapture."

Joss didn't even want to know why he had put chickweed in an old book. Master Enchanter Rudolpho's discourse on the entropic school of spells was about as dry as the dust on the cover of the book. She really, really didn't want to know why the chickweed was inside a book, so, of course her mouth decided otherwise.

"Well, what's it doing in there?" she asked crossly, standing on her tip-toes to reach the tome.

"Hmm? Why is what where?"

Joss wondered if she could get away with a very loud scream of frustration followed by a bolt of lightning in Torres's direction but decided it would only lead to more confusion, of which she'd already had plenty. She opened the book and was immediately attacked by the dust, which made her sneeze. And her skin was beginning to itch. She scratched her forehead and sneezed again.

Seizing the chickweed, which was looking a bit mangled and sorry, she snapped the book shut, sneezed two more times, and left Torres scratching his head in confusion. Well, she was scratching her head too. In fact, she itched all over, and her sneezes were loud enough to rattle the empty suits of armor as she passed them.

Lucian Caravel was surprised to see her back, and he must have been happy to see her because he took one look at her and smiled. She scratched her neck and smiled back, wondering why her skin felt like hundreds of ants were crawling on it, tickling it and making it itch. She shivered. There weren't actually any ants on her, were there? She was afraid to look.

"The essence of cinnamon oil is in the storeroom, Josslyn. I recommend you also take a bottle of sheep tallow."

Scratching her chin, Joss frowned. Surely they didn't put sheep tallow in apple tarts? What a horrible thought. She scratched her arm and went into the storeroom for the essence of cinnamon oil, which wasn't labeled as such.

There was a small vial marked: _Rubicondium essenitia dulcis_. If she was translating her Arcanum correctly that meant sweet red essence, which sounded right to her. She slipped it into a pocket and then found the sheep tallow, which she took as well.

"Why do I need this?" she finally asked Lucian Caravel, holding up the large vial of smelly grey tallow. It looked like rancid lard, and smelled like overripe cheese.

He gave her a kind smile, which scared her more than his crazy smile did.

"Sheep tallow will help with the itching from the rash. Consider this a gift from your Potions Master. Should you ever be in need of a treatment for such a rash and find yourself out of sheep tallow, use the gravy from Cook Killdare's lamb stew. There are healing properties untold contained within."

Well sure, because she would be more than willing to slop some grey goop on her face. As if. What a load of hooey. She refrained from saying so, busy scratching her arm.

"What rash?" she asked him, rubbing at her left cheek. She let out a mighty sneeze that nearly knocked her off her feet.

Lucian took her arm and guided her to his sleeping chamber just off his laboratory, where he pointed at his mirror. Joss stared at herself and let out a string of colorful curses as she saw the red welts covering her face and neck. She looked like she'd been attacked by a red paintbrush.

"I would surmise that your body does not appreciate the natural calming effect of rashvine. I recommend you give the cook her essence and then do something about that rash," he said, not unkindly. Which made Joss nervous enough to all but run from his room.

The rash was everywhere by the time she handed the vial to Bobbitt, but she was determined not to go to the infirmary, where Wynne would no doubt badger her into telling her everything, not that she would willingly do so, but her tongue had betrayed her enough for one day.

Instead, she snuck into the bathhouse with a clean robe and small clothes, stripped, and then painted her entire body with the foul smelling tallow. She waited for what seemed like hours, the need to scratch driving her to distraction. Or crazy. Maybe that's what made people go stark, raving mad. Itching, but not being able to scratch.

By the time her welts were under control and no longer driving her wild with their infernal need to be scratched, the supper bells were clanging loudly. She slipped into her clean robe and opened the door of the bathhouse, peeking around it to see if anyone was about before stepping into the hall.

"Where have you been?" Joseph asked as she entered the dining hall. He looked very unhappy and she suddenly realized she'd spent the entire day, his birthday, running errands for lazy enchanters and hiding in the bathhouse instead of trying to make his day special. Well, their day, but really it was more important in his mind than in hers.

"Sorry, Joseph," she mumbled, feeling small and mean for having neglected him all day.

"And happy birthday," she added, reminding herself that it was worth it for the surprise treat awaiting him for dessert that night.

"Ugh, Joss, you stink. What have you been doing? You smell like rotting sheep dung."

Joss sniffed, realizing she should probably have taken a bath while in the bathhouse. She did smell a bit ripe. Which would explain why everyone was giving her a wide berth as she and Joseph made their way to their usual table. Of course, nobody wanted to sit near her, not even Owain, who gave her an apologetic smile before he moved further down the table. She sighed.

After dinner, trays of tarts were brought out. Joss's spirits lifted at Joseph's exclamation of delight. He punched her lightly on her arm. "Your idea?" he asked under cover of the low hum of approval sweeping through the dining hall.

"Happy birthday," she whispered in reply, punching his arm in return.

The first table to be served, always, was the head table where the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander and all the Senior Enchanters sat. Greagoir rubbed his hands together as his tart was set before him. Joss watched as he dug into his dessert with relish. And then sputtered. And coughed. And turned every shade of red she'd ever seen. And reached for the water jug and drank directly from it. The others at the table were mimicking him as everyone else watched, fascinated.

Lucian Caravel sniffed his tart and began to laugh in great amusement, before winking at her. What was _that_ for, she wondered, suddenly feeling more than a little nervous.

The servers stopped serving the tarts, intent on staring at the frenzied reactions at the head table. Bobbitt came scurrying out of the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about and took one taste of a tart before her face turned fiery red. She turned and said something to Irving and Greagoir that was lost in the hubbub.

"Pepper!" Greagoir roared indignantly before downing another jug of water.

Disappointment slammed into Josslyn's stomach. Why had Bobbitt put pepper in the tarts? What kind of an idiot would do such a lame-brained thing? She glared at Bobbitt, who was too busy glaring at her to notice Josslyn's glare.

She glanced at Joseph, who was convulsed with laughter, the sound chasing her anger and disappointment away. She hadn't heard him laugh so heartily in ages and it reverberated through her chest, making her laugh in response.

"Josslyn Winifred Amell!" First Enchanter Irving bellowed above the raucous laughter that filled the room.

It turned out, and she wasn't sure why she was surprised, given the day she'd had, that _Rubicondium essenitia dulcis _was not, in fact, essence of cinnamon oil. It was essence of red pepper. Hot red pepper, apparently. Her shoulders slumped as she made her way up to the head table to be chewed out by Irving, Bobbitt and Greagoir.

Later, it became known as the Great Pepper Caper and Torres called her Pepper whenever he saw her, even in class. Lucian wore a secret smile for days that made Joss want to smack him. If she didn't know better, she'd say he'd known all along that she'd grabbed the wrong vial in the first place. Not that she had any proof.

But, that night, after a lecture and a list of chores to make up for her prank, and having finally rid herself of the horrible smell of tallow, she sank into bed, exhausted. She wondered how she could make it up to Joseph because she'd ruined his birthday, and spoiled the surprise, not to mention she'd ignored him most of the day. She was on the verge of tears when he crept over and sat on the edge of her bed.

"How did you manage it?" he asked.

After she explained how her simple request for apple tarts had turned into such a fiasco, Joseph laughed and gave her hand a squeeze.

"Thanks, Jo. This is the best birthday ever."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: _Although I usually use just one word prompts for this story, these two prompts seemed to really want to be together, and after struggling for days to ignore them, I caved in. I'm weak…I admit it.  
>A big thank you to Lisa for her suggestion on the last line, as well as her beta-goodness! <em>

**Change and Dignity**

It seemed to Joss that everything started changing at the end of her thirteenth year and life became a maelstrom during her fourteenth.

The sudden growth spurt in her chest only added to the shifting world around her, making it impossible to hide the fact that she now had breasts. And breast-bands had to be the work of a demon. They were uncomfortable on the best day, and, on one particular day, hers had nearly strangled her when it had given up its hold on her chest in favor of becoming a neck warmer. Her fault, really. She should have gone to Belka, the Tranquil seamstress, and asked for a larger breast-band, but she'd held on to the foolish hope that, just as quickly as they'd grown, they'd shrink back to their original buds. As if.

"And they call _me_ Melon?" Niall joked one night while they were playing Spin the Gauntlet with Ser Bran's silverite glove.

"Bastard," Joss snarled, hunching her shoulders.

"Bitch," he replied with a wicked grin. She supposed there were worse things than making Niall smile, although she'd have preferred it wasn't over her attributes.

"They aren't _that_ big," Joseph snickered, spinning the gauntlet. It landed with the fingers pointing at Petra, who rolled her eyes and waited for Joseph to ask a question.

"So, how old were you when _your _bazooms grew?" he asked Petra, who giggled and shook her head.

Really, what was it about breasts that turned young men into little boys? Joss was thoroughly disgusted. She glared at her brother, who shrugged with another merry grin. Sure, because he didn't have any _bazooms_.

"Josslyn's breasts are perfectly proportional to her waist and hips," Owain remarked calmly, as if the whole thing was a mathematical computation.

For some reason, his comment sent everyone into gales of laughter. In fact, they laughed so loudly that Bran, who was watching from the doorway, was forced to come in and pick up his gauntlet and tell them to get to bed and go to sleep before he got into trouble with the knight commander.

Ines explained that she'd been a late bloomer too and not to worry about it. Sure, botany jokes. Just what she needed.

Lucian Caravel kept her after class to demand she pay more attention to his lessons and less to her sulking. "Life is change. Growth is optional," he intoned.

She glanced at her newly-formed chest and then glared at him. Apparently, not _all _growth was optional. _Thanks for nothing_, she hoped her expression said. He raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps there is a cure, Josslyn. Check in Riddimith's _Remedial Remedies_," he offered with a smirk. He was a plonker. A widger. A tally whacker. She slammed the door on her way out of his classroom.

On the upside, her developments dispelled the nasty rumor floating around that she was actually Joseph's twin _brother_. Not that the other mages didn't find new things to tease her about, although she noticed the boys teased her less and the girls teased her more, and in a spiteful way at times.

In fact, the number of young men who wanted to explore the linen closet with her grew in direct proportion to her newly enumerated assets, but she was fiercely loyal to Owain, for all the good it did her.

He found her growth almost as awkward as she did; even more so when they were kissing. She had a need to press against him, and she had even moaned one night when he'd tangled his hands in her hair. Of course, it had been an accident because his cuff caught on one of her hairpins. He had stepped back so quickly that she had nearly fallen flat on her face. Or, as flat as she could, considering her breasts would land first.

She knew what she was experiencing was normal. It wasn't like a mage in the Tower didn't know the basics about sex almost from the time they moved into the apprentice dormitory, although _she_ had been slow to acquire the knowledge. It wasn't until she'd asked Joseph what a plonker was, after the Pepper Caper, that she realized how woefully inadequate her knowledge was. She'd immediately set about rectifying that lapse and now knew twenty-two words for plonker. However, knowing the basics and actually putting them into practice were not the same. At. All.

And it wasn't just the physical changes in her that got on her last nerve and rode it with willful glee. People were coming and going like the Tower was a tourist attraction of some kind. In the space of a week, three templars left for new assignments, and two new templars arrived to take their places, both newly affirmed and as innocent as babes in arms, according to Petra.

When Greagoir escorted the two new templars through the Tower, Joss had to agree with Petra's assessment. The one named Carroll was as eager and cheerful as one of the mabari pups in the Formari's kennels. Not that she had seen many puppies, but there had been two occasions when puppies had escaped and she'd helped search for them. Petra was sure, given the chance, Carroll would lick a mage rather than behead them.

"He's very _chipper,_ isn't he?" Merrisoo said after meeting him, tittering behind her hand.

Joss thought that was a perfect way to describe him, and, within days of his arrival, he became known as Chipper. She liked him well enough, although she felt he was easily confused, which, she supposed, was not a bad thing in a guard if you wanted to get away with things.

Petra was smitten by the second recruit; a very shy young man named Cullen. She spent as much time tripping over her tongue as she did finding excuses to walk down the particular hallway he guarded. Joss agreed that he was cute enough, just not her type. He was, she commented, too sweet and a bit thick, like the cream Cook Killdare put on their tarts from time to time.

"Go ahead, Petra, k-k-k-iss – C-C-Cullen," Niall teased one night when they were all sitting on her bed, discussing various ways to torture the newest recruits.

Two weeks after the newest templar recruits arrived, a young elf mage arrived, and, with him, two very irate templars. They were the type of templars that Greagoir rarely tolerated in the Tower: cruel and harsh. Of course they would be, they were mage-hunters, after all. Happily, they were shown the door almost immediately.

Aneirin, the new mage, came with a giant chip on his shoulder and he immediately announced his dislike of humans. Dislike? Joss snorted. Despise, abhor and detest all seemed much more descriptive. Naturally, Irving decided that having a human mentor was a brilliant idea to help Aneirin adjust more quickly. There was a reason they called him the Worst Enchanter behind his back.

"What a blithering idiot! He assigned Wynne to mentor him. Why not just feed him to the demons and be done with it?" Niall snorted in disgust.

The worst change of all was the announcement that Uldred would mentor Owain in preparation for Owain's Harrowing. Joss was furious, flying into Greagoir's office and demanding he do something about it.

"Please, Ser Greagoir," Joss implored. Apparently her pride had failed to accompany her to his office because she could feel the hot wash of tears. Andraste's navel lint! Crying? She sniffled pitifully. "Enchanter Uldred is a horrible choice for a mentor."

"I'm sorry, Josslyn, I have no say over the mentor assignments," Greagoir said and the kindness in his voice was her undoing. She burst into hiccupping sobs, and Greagoir patted her shoulder.

"I'll talk to Irving but I doubt it will do any good," he finally added, once he could be heard over her noisy blubbering.

It didn't do any good. Owain spent two hours every morning with Uldred, and as the days passed, he became more and more withdrawn. At first it was so gradual that Joss didn't notice. He stopped offering her a reassuring smile when he went off to his lessons. Then, he stopped playing Spin the Gauntlet, which wasn't all that surprising since he didn't like answering personal questions. It wasn't until they were in the practice room and he didn't immediately kiss her that she began to put it all together.

"You won't fail your Harrowing, Owain. I'll help you with your spells," Joss promised, taking his hand and squeezing it.

His smile was little more than a grimace and Joss felt her insides begin to quake. "Owain, you're a good mage. You won't feed the demons," she added, her voice beginning to shake along with her stomach.

"You don't need me, Josslyn."

What, by the Maker's tight arse, did that have to do with anything? She squeezed his hand harder. "I do so need you!" she argued hotly.

His smile reminded her of Greagoir's smile the day they'd discovered old Phinneus had died. Joss squeezed his hand even harder and saw him wince. "Sorry," she added, but her hand refused to let go its death-grip on his.

Owain bent and touched her lips lightly with his and then shook his head. "Little Keili says magic is a curse, but it isn't a curse. Sometimes it's just a mistake, given to the wrong people."

Was he crazy? "Magic is the best gift in the world! It isn't a curse or a mistake," she argued, trying to sound as grown up as he did. She stomped her foot, because clearly that would show him just how adult she really was. Or not.

"Please, Owain," she heard herself beseech. Maker's widger! Her pride had obviously gone walkabout. "Please don't see magic as a mistake."

Owain's smile faded and he shook his head slightly. "I'm not like you, Josslyn Winifred Amell."

Well, of course he wasn't! And lucky for him too. He was sane and rational and maybe too calm at times, but he was Owain and had been her first friend and she loved him. Andraste's knockers, didn't he know that?

"I saw you talking with Belka and Methis. You want to become a Tranquil," she accused. "But you can't, Owain. I – I love you," she whispered.

Owain nodded solemnly, as if she'd just declared there was an attack on the Tower and he was the only one who could stop it. "That's why I haven't spoken with Ser Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving about the Rite yet."

Joss tried very hard to contain her sigh of relief but her insides were cavorting with joy. "Then don't. I'll help you, really."

He kissed her again, and she pressed herself tightly against him, so tightly that he staggered slightly. Maker, she ached for _something_ more, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. He finally stepped back again, his cheeks scarlet. She realized that he ached for something more, too.

"Enough practice for one night," Ser Stoker announced, rapping sharply on the door.

_Stupid templars with their stupid rules._ Joss leaned up and kissed Owain and then marched out of the practice room, head held high, only to trip on the hem of her robe. Owain reached out a steadying hand.

"See, I do need you."

The talk helped for a time. But she saw the look in his eyes sometimes, as if he was trapped inside a prison. Not that the Tower wasn't, of a sort, but Joss knew somewhere deep inside that it was more than that, she just wasn't sure what to do about it because allowing him to become Tranquil wasn't the solution. It couldn't be.

One afternoon as she was working in the potions lab, Lucian Caravel came to sit beside her. "Do you know what becoming a Tranquil means to some mages?" he asked sternly.

She looked up from the vial and glared at him. "Don't know. Don't care."

He cocked his brow and shook his head, looking cold and disapproving, which didn't make Joss feel any better. At. All.

"Of course not. Too busy fighting the natural order of change."

Joss felt a creeping sensation in her blood, as if it was squirming inside her veins. She put her vial down and shrugged. "What does that mean?"

"It means, child, that change happens whether we like it or not, and the best way to deal with change is with a bit of dignity. Owain is demonstrating that quite nicely but you are behaving like a petulant, spoiled child."

Joss felt her mouth fall open and she snapped it closed so quickly her jaw popped. "I don't want him to become Tranquil," she said stubbornly. Maker's smelly socks! The old wanker was right. She sounded like a selfish prat. She wasn't happy with that knowledge, not one little bit.

"I suggest you stop wallowing and go talk to Belka or Feldryn."

She stalked off, nose in the air. She didn't need to talk to them because Owain wasn't going to become a Tranquil. Except that he was sitting in the library, staring at Tranquil Feldryn like Joss stared at sweetmeats. He _wanted_ to be Tranquil. She backed out of the library before he could see her because her emotions were all jumbled and she'd just say the wrong thing if she talked to him.

Belka was sitting in a bright patch of light filtering down through a window set high in the wall, sewing. She looked up as Joss entered and set her sewing aside.

"Have you come for a fitting, Apprentice Josslyn?" she asked calmly.

Joss shook her head and sat down beside the woman. There was a serene expression in her eyes, a look she had rarely seen in Owain's eyes of late, now that she thought about it.

"I want to know why you became Tranquil," she blurted out.

"Do you know how the ocean sounds, rushing to the shore?"

Joss rolled her eyes. "I've never seen the ocean," she replied impatiently. What in Thedas did an ocean have to do with the Rite of Tranquility?

"Imagine a constant noise in your head, day in and day out, that clouds your thoughts and makes it impossible for you to concentrate," the woman said calmly.

Joss closed her eyes and tried to imagine it but she heard only the soft stirring of her magic, something she found calming. She shook her head.

"Wait here, Apprentice Josslyn," the woman said and rose, walking sedately out of the room.

A few moments later she returned, a large spiky shell in her hand. "Hold this to your ear until I tell you to stop," the Tranquil instructed in her calm voice.

Joss held the shell to her ear and heard a faint roaring sound, like the constant hum of the wind during a winter storm. After a few minutes, she began to feel irritable and soon she was wrestling with herself to keep the shell pressed to her ear.

"Now, remove the shell and tell me how removing it makes you feel."

Joss happily set the shell aside and felt her irritation begin to ease. "Calmer," she replied and the truth was like a punch to her stomach. "So you became Tranquil to stop the noise?"

"I became Tranquil so I could concentrate on something other than the noise in my head," Belka replied evenly. "For some, magic is a source of constant noise; such noise can drive a person to despair, or madness. It prevents us from doing tasks we find soothing, and, for some, it is worse than the constant whisper of demons. I chose to be made Tranquil because I knew I had talents to share with the world underneath all the noise. It was my choice."

"Do you ever wish you hadn't?"

"Not for one moment. I may not feel as you do, but I watch you and others with strong emotions and I do not think my decision was wrong. I gave up my ability to experience feelings, but I found peace. Is that not a worthy trade?" the older woman asked placidly.

Joss was unable to sleep that night. She stared into the dark, and, for the first and only time in her life, wished she had never come to the Tower. In the morning she went straight to Lucian Carvel.

"I hate you," she told him and then sat down to make a potion.

He didn't say anything to her which was lucky for him because she would have slapped him in the face with a blast of cold magic. Instead, he watched her, an eyebrow arched as she stirred the potion.

As she was leaving, he spoke. "Give your body time to adjust to the potion. A day or two won't matter."

"Hate," she muttered to him and stomped out.

The potion was vile tasting and made her faintly queasy, but she drank it every morning. Three days passed and still she said nothing. She watched Owain struggle each day and it was then that she noticed he wasn't even painting any more. He was drifting away from her, and from life, and it was all her fault because she was a coward. Maker's pointed beard, she hated growing up because everything changed, and not for the better.

Her opening came two days later when Aneirin decided Tower life wasn't for him and he ran away. Everything was chaotic. The senior templars were busy organizing search parties, and the senior mages were busy wringing their hands. Joss wasn't sure if she was grateful to Aneirin for the diversion or furious with him for forcing her hand. Either way, the time to act was upon her and she was too stubborn to back down.

After supper that night, she gathered her pillow and blanket and went to the practice room.

"What kind of spell requires those?" Chipper asked, shifting slightly on the balls of his feet.

"The kind where templars can get hurt if they barge in," she assured him, and he laughed nervously.

"Would you please, please promise not to bother us?" she added, giving him her best wide-eyed smile.

"Us?"

"Owain needs to practice, too," she answered and went to find Owain.

He was sitting at his desk and looked up at her with a half-hearted smile. "Josslyn, we need to talk," he began but she shook her head, pulling him out of his chair. Best do this while she had the nerve. If he gave her an argument, she'd fold like a neatly pressed bed-sheet.

"Sit down, Owain," she commanded once they were in the practice room. She pointed to the makeshift bed, thoroughly disgusted with her finger for shaking like a little old mage.

Owain obediently sat and she joined him, wishing the floor was just a bit softer. "I know you aren't painting anymore. Why?"

"I can't concentrate, Josslyn. I can't think sometimes. There is too much noise. Uldred is convinced it's only a matter of time before I give in to the demons because they promise peace and quiet."

"What? What kind of a mentor is he?" Joss yelled.

"It's not Uldred's fault that I lack the ability to concentrate," Owain reproved.

Lovely. Her planned seduction and capitulation was going wonderfully well. She sighed.

"Never mind that ugly old git. Just please, don't feed the demons, Owain. Promise me."

He nodded and they sat holding hands for a few minutes while Joss mentally went in search of her courage, which seemed to have stayed in the dormitory, no doubt hiding under her bunk.

"I talked to Belka the other day," she finally said.

"I know, she told me."

"Is it really what you want, Owain?" she asked and her voice went all quivery. She cleared her throat, waiting for him to reply.

"You are the only reason I don't want the Rite," he confessed quietly.

While that wasn't really a surprise to Joss, it made her feel as guilty as if she'd taken money out of the collection box that was in the chapel, which had always struck her as an odd place for it, considering mages had no money to speak of.

"I'd rather you were Tranquil and happy than feeding the demons, not that you'll actually be happy, but at least you wouldn't be unhappy anymore either," she said and then wanted to bite her tongue in half in the hopes that it stopped working. Couldn't she do anything right? "I mean…" she started again and then fell silent.

Owain took that moment to bring his lips to hers in a brief kiss.

"Are you sure, Josslyn Winifred Amell?"

Was she sure? Of course she wasn't sure! She had always carried around a ridiculous hope that he would become First Enchanter and she would be at his side, teaching Potions. She'd promised herself that he would be her first. She had dreamt of a life in the Tower with him by her side. Sure? The only thing she was sure of was that change stunk and dreams were for idiots.

"I'm sure," she lied and slapped a smile on her face. "But I want you to do something for me before you tell the Worst Enchanter," she added. A blush seemed to creep up from her toes to well past her nose as she explained what she hoped he would do with her.

Owain blinked. "Are you sure?" he asked when she was done humiliating herself. "You're only fourteen. I don't want you to regret it."

Again with that question? But at least this time when she said, "I'm sure," it wasn't a lie. The quiver in her voice had nothing to do with lies. At. All. Or rather a different type of lying. And her mind took her to an unexpected place that made her heart jump around in her chest like a frog at a fly festival. She reminded herself that in many parts of Thedas girls her age were already married and some were mothers as well. She did want it. She just didn't want it to be the only time, but she kept that to herself.

It hurt. A lot. And she was the clumsiest person in all of Thedas. But Owain approached it as he did everything else, with a gentle grace and dignity. When she whimpered the littlest bit at first, he cast a healing wave of magic over her, and, after that, it was very pleasant.

Owain was so intent on trying to be gentle and he was so earnest in his desire to do it correctly that she was sorrier than ever that he was going to become Tranquil. But he seemed much more peaceful. She wished she could be as gentle and she wished she knew what in the Void she was doing, but what she lacked in knowledge she tried to make up for in enthusiasm.

Afterwards, when she was staring up at the ceiling, wondering if her breath was ever going to catch up with her, she thought with a bit more practice they'd get the hang of it and would probably never leave the practice room again. The notion of practicing t_hat _in the practice room brought on a serious bout of giggles. When she explained why she was laughing, Owain chuckled.

"I'll miss your humor most of all," he whispered.

But he wouldn't, of course. There was a chance the Rite could strip away his memory, according to Greagoir. Even if he didn't lose his memory, he would forget the emotions associated with her, any joy he'd ever felt. She blinked back a rush of salty tears and turned away from him.

"Josslyn Winifred Amell. Do you know what Josslyn Winifred means?" Owain asked as they were gathering up the pillow and blanket.

"It probably means evil spawn," she said, trying very hard not to cry.

"It means light-hearted joy. I will remember," he vowed.

"From your lips to the Maker's ears," she replied thickly. "But even if you don't, Owain, I'll remember enough for the two of us," she added.

It took her a long time to fall asleep and in the morning he was gone, his bed stripped.

They had let her sleep in, probably to stop her from carrying on when he left. She slipped out of bed, stripped off her bedding and went to his bunk. Joseph found her struggling to make the bed and helped her without saying a word.

Joss wanted to find Owain but Greagoir explained that he had withstood the procedure quite well and was currently in the cavern under the Tower, working with the rune-crafters. Each new Tranquil became familiar with the Formari's business, to determine where they were most comfortable working. It would be several weeks before she'd see Owain, he explained. She suspected that it was as much to allow everyone an adjustment period as anything else, but she kept thought to herself.

The templars returned two weeks later, without Aneirin, but with a scruffy, lanky boy in tow.

Oh yay, Joss groaned inwardly. Another angry mage who would no doubt whine and pitch fits about every little rule and regulation. She took an immediate dislike to him.

"Who are you?" she demanded the minute he walked into the dormitory.

"Anders," he replied, giving her a glare.

"I didn't ask where you were from, I asked your name," she shot back.

"Anders," he repeated coldly.

Apparently, the King's tongue was foreign to him. "You're from the Anderfels, I get that, but what is your name?"

"What are you, a Tranquil?" the mage asked with a smirk.

Joss flew at him, fists pummeling his skinny chest, and, when that didn't wipe the smirk off his face, she blasted him with ice. In fact, his smirk seemed to be frozen to his face. She returned his smirk but before she could let loose with another spell, Greagoir was there, escorting her to Irving's office.

"It's good to know some things will never change," he remarked dryly.

**~~~oOo~~~**

She watched him from her hiding place in a little alcove. He seemed serene, dressed in the crisp brown robes of the Formari. He was standing at the entrance to the stockroom where the magical items were kept. She wanted to go to him and ask him how he was, but was afraid he had forgotten her in the month since he'd become Tranquil and she didn't know how she'd react to that, deciding she didn't want to know. Not yet.

Turning, she walked back to her dormitory. Sitting on her pillow was a small, flat parcel, wrapped in plain cloth and tied with a green ribbon. She picked it up and looked around to see that Niall, Petra and Joseph were all watching her, as if they expected her to break down. Anders, lounging on his bunk reading, glanced over at her.

"Some Tranquil brought it in while you were in the library."

The way he said Tranquil made her want to fry his scrawny arse but she was too intent on unwrapping the parcel to bother with him. And then she was sobbing like a complete nodcock.

The girl in the portrait was much too pretty to be her, but the coloring was right, and beside her was a tall, good-looking man with blue eyes and dark brown hair, wearing a gentle smile.

Underneath the painting were the words: "Light-hearted joy."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**:_ This is written from Joseph's pov. He and Joss are now 15.  
>My thanks to Lisa for her wonderful beta skills! <em>

**Insights**

After five years, he found he still missed the oddest things. Things he had taken for granted, without ever realizing their importance in his life. He often wondered if coming to the Tower at a very young age wasn't easier for all involved. Joss seemed to be a part of the very Tower itself, while he often felt like an outsider. Or perhaps, he reflected sadly, she had just learned to adjust easier than he had.

He missed corners, for one thing. The Tower was all gentle curves and rounded edges without corners to speak of. He had spent most of the first year feeling faintly dizzy from the lack of definition in the rooms and the curving hallways.

He missed the feel of grass, springy and ticklish under bare feet, especially in the fields around the small stone manor that he had once called home. There was something indefinably sweet about freshly-mown grass on a hot summer day.

He missed the hush created by a blanket of new-fallen snow. The world was a dazzling and muted sea of white, in which even the birds sang softly. He remembered hours spent watching the snow accumulate along the stone fences that marked their fields, waiting to be the first to step foot in the newly created world of white.

He missed being able to saddle a horse and ride across the gently rolling hills under a beaming sun, the wind warm and welcoming as his horse galloped through the summer day.

Much to his surprise, he didn't miss his parents. The moment Joss's magic had manifested, they had become wary and watchful, their eyes filled with sorrow. They were waiting for him to become a monster. He had tried to hide his own magic, but only because Joss had demanded he do so when they had finally figured out how to meet in their dreams.

Now, watching Joss weave together a combination of flame and wind that created an inferno of fire contained within a circle no larger than a serving platter, he realized that what he missed was not nearly as important as what he'd found – the other half of himself. That part of him that had mocked him with memories, and a feeling of emptiness even when he was in a crowd, was silent now that he had found Joss again.

He would never be the mage she was. They both knew it but neither of them verbalized it, as if doing so would further weaken his spell casting. He watched her inferno blink out of existence as she flashed a bright smile at him.

"Your turn, Joey!" she said, stepping back.

When his spell grew too large to control and threatened to set the practice room, and them, ablaze, she called up a rain cloud and doused his ever-growing inferno. He wanted to be angry but she clapped him on the back.

"Much better!"

It was important, she claimed, that he learn to control his spells because a controlled spell was less likely to attract the attention of the demons. She'd gone on to explain that his mental outlook was even more important. At the moment, he was more concerned with her mental state than his own.

She still refused to see Owain, going out of her way to avoid him. And her humor had become almost too irreverent now, as if she needed to constantly be entertained so she didn't dwell on Owain's decision to become tranquil. He suspected that she took responsibility for that decision and that it weighed heavily on her, for all that Owain had wanted it.

"Bollocks. I'm never going to be the mage you are. Let's see if Cook Killdare has some of those scones hidden away," he said when he realized she was waiting for a response.

As they made their way to the kitchens, they stopped to greet Ser Bran, Ser Moresby, Ser this and Senior Enchanter that. Joseph had learned early on that he and his twin viewed the templars very differently. She saw most of them as protectors, there to keep her safe from a world that feared mages. He viewed them as little more than gaolers. He saw the senior enchanters as mentors and parents, and actually enjoyed Wynne, while Joss detested her as a nosy old busybody.

She stopped suddenly. "You go on, Joey. I'm going back to the dorm."

"You have to face him some time, Jo."

"I have," she protested. "It's just that I remembered I wanted to talk to Niall about a lesson."

Joseph gripped her arm tightly. "You haven't, Joss. Not once. Seeing him from a distance isn't the same, and, while I know he can't feel hurt by that, I feel badly for him."

She shook his hand off. "Fine, fine. But if I cry, so help me, I'll make you sorry," she promised.

"Josslyn Winifred Amell. Welcome to the stockroom of magical items. I am not feeding the demons."

Joseph watched the color drain from Josslyn's face and then come flooding back. She smiled softly. "You look well, Owain."

"I am well, Josslyn. I am at peace. Thank you."

"Sure, happy to help," she said and then looked stricken by her words.

"You look tired. Are you plagued by demons?" Owain asked in his even tones.

Joss made an odd sound in her throat and Joseph stepped closer, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "She's just been busy playing practical jokes on people. You know Josslyn."

"Yes, I know Josslyn Winifred Amell. Light-hearted joy."

There was no change in his expression, but Joseph thought he heard a slight wistfulness in Owain's voice and then thought he'd imagined it as the Tranquil then asked if they required anything from the stockroom. Joss shook her head and then dragged Joseph away, practically running to the kitchen.

She still searched the Fade for Owain, though she claimed that she didn't. He understood it was guilt that drove her into the Fade several times a month. She had to make sure some part of him wasn't trapped there.

She was much more adept at shaping their Fade experiences than he was, although he had laughed loudly at her idea of a forest. It looked like the large painting hanging in First Enchanter Irving's office…lots of stiff trees and a few gnarled stumps. He recreated all the places of his childhood and she studied them with admiration, staring around her as if memorizing the scene.

She was the reason they finally got caught in the Fade and she never stopped feeling guilty about it. They were, once again, searching for Owain, when she stumbled onto a dream that seemed to mesmerize her. She kept creeping closer, even though they had sworn never to enter a dream again, after that fiasco with Buckethead.

"I think he's in there," she said, pointing to a dark room. She stepped closer, calling softly.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing here?" Wynne asked, stepping out of a shadow and pointing an accusing finger at them.

They ran, even though they both knew it was too late. They ran so fast, and so far, that they ran into a demon. Desire Demon. Of all the demons, they were the hardest for Joseph to resist. Even now, he felt the irresistible pull of the demon and took a step closer. She promised him freedom and a normal life, and, while some part of him knew she was lying, that he wouldn't ever have those things, he was tempted.

Joss, however, was not tempted. At. All. She threw a fireball at the demon, thatwrithed in agony and hurled foul epithets at them as they started running again. Which was silly, now that Joseph thought about it. All they had to do was wake up.

They were dragged before Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving the following morning. Wynne stood, arms folded and face set in stern lines, and Joss belligerently refused to say a word. Joseph had no illusion that they could hold out against the three most powerful people in the Tower and he didn't bother trying.

As he explained their ability, he realized for the first time how rare their gift was. Irving went to his bookshelf and pulled down a thick volume, dust motes dancing in the air when he opened the book.

"You realize that only one in a thousand mages are born with such a gift? For two ages, no mage has shown such abilities. Yet we have not one, but two of you in _our_ Tower."

There was a proprietary note in Irving's voice that made Joseph nervous. He moved closer to Josslyn, and she reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. He wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or seeking reassurance but he squeezed in return.

"Thank you, Wynne. You may leave now. I expect you to keep this information to yourself."

"Of course, Irving, but the dangers are…" Wynne began but he cut her off with a sharp chop of his hand.

"That will be all."

After she left, Irving launched into a lecture about the responsibilities of being a Somniari, which was, he went on to explain, what the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium called such mages. The more he talked, the more guilty Joss looked. Or so it seemed to Joseph. Outwardly, someone who didn't look too closely would see her stance as one of stubbornness, but he saw the unease behind her eyes.

"What of the demons?" Greagoir asked.

"What of them?" Joss responded. Maker, if she didn't get out of there soon, she'd explode with magic. He squeezed her hand again and she glanced down at their hands and then at him. She nodded slightly.

"When we come across a demon, we kill it," Joss finally admitted.

"And you are strong enough to withstand their temptations and their machinations?" the knight-commander asked, surprised.

"Of course. We know what we're doing."

Well, that wasn't true or they wouldn't have been caught, but Joseph didn't correct her. And she probably wasn't nearly as tempted by the demons as he was. Not that he would ever give in to them. Still, he knew it was more difficult for him to resist them than it was for Joss.

"Think of what this means," Irving crowed and Joseph finally understood why Joss disliked him. There was an avaricious gleam in his eye.

"It means that should the Chantry be made aware of them, they will be summarily executed, if this book is any indication," Greagoir said, snapping the book shut, sending up a small cloud of dust.

"Yes, I see your point. Still, we need to proceed carefully. I have several colleagues who might be of assistance."

Joss spoke up then, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like the colleagues who send nobles here to find tutors for their children?"

Irving's face turned the color of chalk and his eyes narrowed. "What I do, I do for the good of everyone in the Tower, Josslyn Amell, and I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head You are and your brother are not to talk about your talent to anyone without my prior approval."

They were walking back to the dormitory when Joseph stopped, his hand reaching out to stop Joss as well. "What did you mean about the nobles and tutors?"

Joss shrugged. "Sometimes nobles come here, looking for tutors for their precious little children. Usually they decide on a young, unharrowed mage, almost always pretty and usually an elf. Of course we never see them again."

Joseph's grip on her arm tightened. "How do you know?"

"What do you mean, how do I know? How do you think I know?"

"When?"

"Two years ago. Some pompous prat wanted a young red-haired _tutor_ for his son. He was from Kirkwall. Said I was the perfect shade and when I claimed my hair wasn't red, he decided there was only one way to tell for sure. He wanted me to strip down. I froze him to the floor and ran."

She gave a chuff of laughter, looking completely unrepentant and he couldn't have been prouder of her. "Isn't there anything that can be done to prevent the nobles from taking mages as tutors?"

"Greagoir tried to stop it, but the Chantry relies on donations and tithes, especially from the nobles, so they turn a blind eye. At least he tries to prevent it, and in the last few years, fewer girls have been taken. He makes sure those chosen for an interview are dressed badly and he warns them to talk like they're idiots. Still, it shows what complete pricks the nobles and the Chantry are."

"So that's why you get crazed when someone calls you a redhead?"

Joss gave him a sheepish grin. "I do not get _crazed_. I merely set people straight."

"I think several people here would disagree. In fact, I'm one of them."

"Stuff it, Brother," she retorted with another grin.

After that first meeting with Owain, Joseph noted that Joss went out of her way to pass by the stockroom and stop and talk to Owain. He felt a blush of pride spread through him. Pride in her for finally accepting Owain, and pride in himself for understanding her well enough to help her find her footing again.

Three weeks after they had been caught in the Fade, Joseph discovered she was, indeed, herself again. She and Niall were having a contest to see who could cast the most powerful storm. He dubbed it a storm clash and they filled the practice room with their storms. Everyone watching got soaking wet and the wind howled around the room. Ser Bran stuck his head in and quickly pulled it back out, slamming the door behind him.

Finally, Joss, her face pink with effort, broke his storm, sending raindrops splattering to the floor as her own storm overpowered the remnants of Niall's.

"You red-haired witch!" Niall exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow. Joseph froze, wondering what retribution Joss would seek. Niall froze as well, waiting, a look of panic on his face.

"Andraste's belly-button lint! It's auburn!" she exclaimed and then laughed, much to everyone's relief.

Joseph eyed his sister suspiciously. Her motto had always been: Get mad and then get even. It seemed more than a bit strange that she would laugh Niall's comment off, all things considered.

It wasn't many days later, however, when Joseph heard Niall's scream reverberate through the bathhouse. Joseph wrapped a towel around himself and ran for the dressing room and promptly burst out laughing. Niall's dark brown hair was a bright, apple red. As was the towel he'd used to dry his hair with.

Ser Bran and Ser Stoker came running in right behind Joseph, and they too stopped in their tracks as laughter overcame them.

"Josslyn Amell!" Ser Greagoir shouted a few minutes later.

Joss, voice full of mirth, called out, "Are you letting me into the bathhouse during the men's time? I am so lucky!"

"No! Stay where you are, young lady!" Greagoir exclaimed as several younger mages scrambled for their towels. Except, Joseph noted with a grin, Anders, who stood where he was, naked as the day he was born, a smile lighting his face.

It had been a surprise to Joseph when he discovered he actually preferred men to women. But he knew, at least in the Tower, that there was no stigma attached to that predilection. He hadn't told Joss yet, but she seemed to know everything about him even when he tried to keep it from her, so he wouldn't be surprised to discover she had already figured it out.

Of course, if he professed his affection for Anders to her, she'd probably freeze him to the floor or something else equally painful. She detested Anders and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Anders couldn't understand how she and Joseph could be related. Joseph told each of them to shut up about the other, and, much to his surprise, they complied.

That night when he and Joss met in the Fade, he saw that she had gone to extra lengths to recreate the meadow and stream near the family estate. If the trees were slightly too dark and the water in the stream a bit too blue, he wasn't going to complain.

"Nice job with Niall. Bet he thinks twice before calling you a red-haired anything."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied with uncharacteristic dignity.

"Right. I'm sure it's just a coincidence that I saw you having quite a discussion with Lucian Caravel yesterday? Or that you went from there to see Owain?"

"I'm sure it must be. But Niall does look adorable as a redhead, doesn't he?" she snickered.

"Yes, adorable," Joseph agreed dryly.

"Better than Anders, but if he makes you happy, I'm happy. Although I don't see how that blockhead could make anyone happy."

"Joss," Joseph warned quietly.

"Oh right, sorry. I meant to say: good on you, Joey."

He laughed, and she joined in. Together, they were undefeatable. No matter what the years had in store for them, as long as they were there, he knew they'd survive anything. She was his anchor and he knew, in that moment of shared laughter, that he was her anchor, as well.

He wouldn't have it any other way.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _This was not supposed to be about Brin but the word prompt said otherwise. Joss & Joseph have just turned 17. This is the first part of their time together. The other part of their story will be in the next chapter, entitled: Lies.  
>Thank you, Lisa, for the beta and suggestions. You are a treasure. <em>

**Grace**

He was the talk of the Tower when he arrived. For days Joss heard nothing but the lovelorn sighs and effusive praise for a mage that she had, thus far, been lucky enough to avoid. Anyone who garnered that much attention was either a conceited arse or a charlatan and she didn't really care enough to find out which.

Irving had given him over to Senior Enchanter Torrin and had, apparently, decided that he was not to mingle with the other apprentices. The new mage, whose name escaped her more often than not, slept in Torrin's room and had yet to attend any classes. He was too good for the rest of them, apparently. An observation that did nothing to endear him to Joss.

Others had seen him, but she'd been busy with her potions studies. Lucian Caravel had finally taught her how to make poultices from hay and dirty socks and she was still practicing. And, to her acute disappointment, the hay made her nose run and her eyes itch, but she didn't let that dissuade her from practicing.

She was heartily tired of hearing about the mysterious Chasind mage who had been captured near Lothering and brought to the Tower. Everyone had an opinion and everyone insisted on sharing it. No amount of assurances that she didn't _care_ stopped the outpouring of adoration. The last barbarian to garner such adulation was Andraste, a fact that Joss didn't mind sharing.

"I couldn't give a flying fig about him," Joss muttered, rolling her eyes as Petra and Merrisoo gushed like water through a ruptured levee.

"He is gorgeous. His eyes, Maker, his eyes are so…so…" Merrisoo breathed.

"Forget his eyes, have you seen his arse? It is all kinds of grab-worthy," Petra interjected.

"You two sound like Lady Froufrou in heat. Listen to yourselves," Joss said in disgust, thinking she'd just insulted the elegant grey cat that walked through the halls of the Tower like she owned the place.

"Wait until you meet him, Josslyn, then we'll see how quickly you change your tune," Merrisoo said in her best imitation of a gloating hag. Oh wait…she _was _a gloating hag. Joss smirked at her.

"I don't care if he is the second coming of Andraste in male form, he's just a _mage_. He casts his spells like anybody else. And how great can he be if he was caught by the templars? It's not like they're all that smart. No offense, Bran," she added over her shoulder.

"I'm sure you don't mean the templars assigned _here_," he replied with his usual quiet dignity.

"Never."

Anders looked up from his usual place, which was sprawled on his bed with a book. "She's just upset because all the attention has shifted from her to the new guy," he snickered.

"Bran, close your eyes," she said and then cast a bolt of lightning at Anders.

"Ow! Andraste's knicker-weasels, Joss, keep your spells to yourself," Anders sputtered, rubbing his arm.

"As soon as you keep your opinions to yourself," she shot back. "Anyway, I'm surprised you aren't cooing over Gorgeous Mage. Don't you prefer _men _in skirts?"

"No, I prefer anyone in skirts. In fact, the only one in the Tower I don't prefer is you. That must really rankle," he gloated spitefully. The pig. She'd as soon kiss old Sweeney than look at Anders, who had moved on from Joey without a second's hesitation.

She'd known the minute she'd met him that Anders was a feckless, selfish _boy_ pretending to be a charming scamp, moving from one conquest to the other. As she had feared, that had held true with her brother, as well. Joseph had pursued Anders, not overtly, but quietly, and with a certain shyness that surprised Joss. Anders had finally taken up with Joey, but they'd been together for less than two weeks before Anders was off to hurt his next conquest. He told Joey that it was because he was afraid of getting serious and then losing the person, but Joss thought that was a load of hooey. Joey pretended it didn't bother him, but she saw the way he stared after Anders when he thought no one was watching.

"Makes me weep into my pillow every night. I'm surprised my sobs don't keep you awake. Oh, wait…Uldred is more appealing than you are," she retorted.

Anders glared at her, his sensibilities no doubt offended. "If you were the last person in the Tower and my only means of escape was sex with you, I'd lock myself in a cell."

Joss thought that was an impressive insult coming from him, but refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she smirked again, but only because she knew it irked him. "Speaking of escapes, isn't it about time you bungled another attempt? I mean the other two were so brilliantly executed. Going out with the nightly garbage? Seriously? You stank for weeks, you…you coxcomb."

They glared at each other for several minutes before their stare-off was interrupted by the raucous pealing of bells. "Saved by the bell," he chortled as she gathered up her spellbook and quill.

She hit him on his flat arse with another bolt of lightning. "Have a nice day," she chirped on her way out of the door.

After her potions class, where Lucian Caravel kept her late to discuss her failure to excel at all things potion related, Joss hurried to the library to meet with her mentor, Senior Enchanter Ines. Everyone knew Ines hated being a mentor, which was fine because Joss hated being mentored. They spent most of their time discussing the merits of fresh herbs as opposed to dried herbs, and other things equally boring, and made catty, but accurate, remarks about Wynne the Meddling Mother Hen. The mentoring was a sign that Joss would be taking her Harrowing soon and she was curiously ambivalent about becoming a harrowed mage.

On the one hand, it meant more privacy and privileges. On the other, it also meant being away from Joseph, who was not yet ready for his Harrowing. Joss pushed that unhappy thought away. It was not unusual for mages arriving in their early teens to be harrowed later than their tower raised counterparts, but it worried Joss that he was still nervous about it.

The Harrowing was the worst kept secret in the Tower. Most of the apprentices learned about it before they hit their early teens, but everyone pretended that it was a deep, dark secret ritual. Joss thought it was ridiculous to expect all mages to resist the kinds of temptations offered by most demons, especially desire demons, which had a real talent for felling any unwary male mages. Joss was convinced those males that succumbed had stopped thinking the minute the demon flashed her nipple clamps at them, but as they didn't survive the ordeal, she couldn't very well ask. She wasn't sure why the mages weren't taught better ways to resist the demons, ways to fight them. Instead, they were offered up as sacrifices. Or so it seemed to Joss.

"Just say no if a demon uses his wily, wily ways on you, Joey. You tell them _no _every time we go into the Fade and the Harrowing is no different than a Fade walk," Joss reassured one evening as they made their way from the dining hall to the dormitory, by way of the library.

"Just say no," he mimicked and she shot him a quick look to see if he was angry. He wasn't, just glum. "You make it sound easy, but it isn't that way for a lot of us, Joss."

She'd been told that so many times that she merely rolled her eyes. "I didn't say it was _easy_, but you do say no to the demons all the time. You are so much stronger than you think you are."

"So you say," he replied, his tone grimmer than Joss would have liked.

"Come on…race you to the library!" she said, hiking up her robe and breaking into a sprint, hoping to put a smile back on his face. Not that a seventeen-year old had any business running around the halls. She felt her hair tumble down as she raced along, to the accompaniment of hairpins hitting the floor.

Glancing back at Joey, who was shaking his head as he broke into a run, she laughed, remembering how much he'd missed his trousers when he'd first come to the Tower. Now he moved with the usual grace of the male mages, so accustomed to the robes that he would probably hate trousers.

"Look out!" Chipper cried, distracting Joss, who snapped her head in his direction to see his eyes the size of dinner plates and his gauntleted finger pointing in the direction she was heading.

Too late. She hit someone with enough momentum to knock them both to the ground, where she insisted on sprawling all over the boy beneath her. Boy? Hardly that, from the feel of it. She blinked, trying to catch her breath, which had gone walkabout without her permission.

Hands reached down and helped her to her feet where she stood panting, in search of her breath. "Watch where you're going!" she growled ungraciously as soon as she had enough air in her lungs to talk.

"I think I should watch where _you_ are going," came the amused reply. Deep voice. Sonorous. And unfamiliar. Oh Maker's brass balls, it must be the barbarian.

Straightening, she glared at the very handsome young mage standing before her. He. Was. Gorgeous. And she hated him for it because her stomach and heart fluttered in a way they hadn't since Owain. She sat down abruptly as she realized the room was tilting rather alarmingly, but did not relinquish the scowl she aimed at the newcomer.

"You must be Josslyn Winifred Amell," the man continued, as if she hadn't been glaring up at him. Was he blind? Or stupid? Nobody was that good-looking without something being seriously wrong somewhere. A character flaw of some kind had to exist, she was sure of it. Maybe a nervous twitch, a stutter, a brain the size of a pea. Something else the size of a pea?

She refused to be smitten with a barbarian like most of the other Tower denizens. "Why must I be Josslyn Winifred Amell?" she challenged waspishly. Lovely first impression, Joss. Why not just bite him now and show him how rabid you really are? And how had he known her name, anyway? What arse was talking about her behind her back? To a complete stranger, for the Maker's sake. She'd eviscerate whoever it was.

"Because Owain described you perfectly."

Well, that took the edge right off her resolve, but she refused to cease glaring at him. "And who might you be?" she demanded as Joseph helped her up yet again.

Oh good, Joss. You sound just like Anders says you sound…like you own the shook her head and tried to ease the glare but it seemed content where it was. He was smiling at her, a bright and confident smile that made her insides shiver and shake.

He was tall, with broad shoulders, and he'd been firm when she'd landed on him. Very firm, unlike the mages, but not dissimilar to templars. She'd discovered firm bodies after a brief liaison she'd had with Ser Malcolm, who was now stationed in Denerim, thanks to a nosy mage who'd reported said liaison. Joss suspected Anders had ratted her out because everyone knew he hated all templars with the heat of a thousand fireballs.

The Chasind mage had very dark hair and bright blue eyes, made more vivid by his lightly tanned skin. His chin, his nose, his eyes and even his blasted ears, were in perfect proportion, and he stood before her, the very paragon of manly beauty.

"I am Brinmar of Clan Corinver. I have wanted to meet you since I arrived."

"Why, in the name of Andraste's arse, would you want to do that?"

The young man raised a brow at that and his smile widened. "Because I have heard of you, of course."

"Oh, of course," she replied and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Our shaman spoke of you before I left the clan in search of you."

She sat down abruptly, her legs having decided they no longer needed to support her. Joey was snickering softly as he reached down a hand to help back onto her feet because every mage knew the third time was the charm. She gave her legs a stern dressing down and tried not to wobble when Brinmar of Clan Coriander moved closer, his smile so warm it would melt butter. Warm enough that Joss felt a moment of panic because nobody had ever smiled at her quite that way before.

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, searching for a reasoned response to his startling proclamation. Something polite and welcoming should do the trick, she thought, forcing herself to smile, although she was fairly certain it was more of a grimace than an actual smile.

"You came in search of me? Are you crazy? This is a tower where they lock away mages and lop their heads off if they try to leave. Mages try to break _out_ of the tower; they don't try to break _in_!"

Very nicely done, Joss. Such a cordial welcoming. It's a wonder you aren't assigned as permanent official Tower greeter. She shook her head as Joey groaned.

"What my sister means is: welcome to the Circle of Magi of Ferelden. Why are you looking for her?" Joey asked, cocking his head to one side in amusement. The turncoat. She could tell by his stance that he was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. And wasn't surprised at all. She turned her suspicious gaze on him but he offered her a sweet smile so she returned to glaring at Brinmar of Clan Capsicum.

A wayward thought flitted into her brain as she studied the hedge mage. She wondered what his light stubble would feel like against her skin, which made said skin burn with a blush that was probably less attractive than it was mottled. She thought sourly that he probably blushed with the grace of a young maiden and that made her want to box his ears.

"She is _Rasui Balari_, one who walks quietly in dreams. We were destined to meet, whether you believe this or not, Josslyn," he added, his voice as warm as his smile.

"Did I mention that you're crazy? If not, allow me to do so now. If I have…well… consider it a reiteration of the fact."

Joss turned to stomp away because that was clearly the mature thing to do. But a hand, firm and yet oddly gentle, touched her arm briefly. "Yes, to you I'm crazy, but I know why I'm here, and it is to meet you."

"Ha! The very last person to recognize crazy when they see it is the actual crazy person in question," she shot back triumphantly, pulling her arm away from his grasp and then regretting it the minute she had. Joey wasn't the only traitor in their midst. Her body was pretty busy betraying her as well.

Brinmar's smile wavered for a moment as his eyes slid to Joseph, who gave a minute shrug. And then he chuckled, a deep and rich sound that spiked through her and made her want to invite the sound again. What was wrong with her? If Anders could see her now he would howl with laughter. Not that she gave a tinker's damn about that jackanapes, but still, she was clearly not herself. She stalked away, without a backward glance at the handsome Chasind. It was a very difficult thing to manage as every muscle in her body screamed out for her to look over her shoulder at him.

"Well, that was…different," Joey murmured as they entered the library.

Different? Uncanny, maybe. Eerie, definitely. Bizarre even. But different? Much too mild a word for the encounter. She grinned at her brother. "Nothing like a bit of weird to liven up the evening. And just what did you have to do with that?"

"Me? Nothing!" he cried too quickly. She stared at him with narrowed eyes. He was lying, and not even all that well.

"Bollocks. You talked about me, didn't you? Told him about our Fade walking?"

"Josslyn Amell, you're paranoid," he responded, looking down at his open spellbook.

She didn't see Brinmar of Clan Korcari again until the morning after her Harrowing, ten days later. After a romp through the Fade, laughing at the demons as they tried to tempt her, she returned from the land of dreams and fell into a deep sleep. She woke feeling oddly cheerful and not at all sick, which made her puff out her chest in pride. Most apprentices who went through the Harrowing were sick for days. But then, most needed copious amounts of lyrium to enter the Fade and she did not. Poor slobs, she gloated.

"Congratulations on your successful Harrowing, _Mage _Josslyn," Brinmar said formally, bowing slightly at the waist, which made her feel ridiculously girlish and giddy.

"I suppose the Chasind don't have a test like that?" she asked, reaching for superiority and finding obnoxious instead. What was the matter with her tongue? It seemed intent on being much sharper than she wanted it to be. But he took it with a grace that made her feel slightly ashamed of herself and then angry at him because of it.

"We don't. If a mage is strong enough to withstand the temptation of the demons day-to-day, there seems little point in throwing them at the demons of the dream realm. But we foster mages, encourage them at an early age, teach them to resist demons. We teach them how to avoid templars and temptation," he ended quietly.

"Well they didn't do a good job of it with you since you're here now," she sniped and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Maker's pointed yellow teeth! Could she be a bigger bitch? She didn't think so.

Brinmar was laughing quietly, not in the least offended. "They captured me because I couldn't think of another way to meet you."

"Stop that. Stop saying things like that," she demanded, throwing in a very adult-like stomp of her foot while she was at it. "I already know that Joey, the traitor, talked to you. I don't know why, or why you'd want to know, but stop pretending you're some mystic or something."

He had the grace to look abashed and then a grin spread across his face like morning sunshine spreading across the fields. Her mouth responded with a smile of its own. Damnation!

"Well, I was trying to get an edge, you see. But you're right, I'm not mystical, our shaman has never heard of you, and I got caught because – well – never mind. You wouldn't be interested.

"So, can we start again? My friends call me Brin."

"Joss," she replied, sticking her hand out. He stared at it for a minute and then took it in his and squeezed it gently.

"I am known in our clan as a rascal, what we call an _Ndale_, which means trickster. Hmmm, that doesn't sound all that nice, does it? Anyway, I hope we can be friends, otherwise I'm without a cohort in crime."

He turned and walked away and this time, Joss allowed herself to watch. She was not disappointed, and when he turned back and grinned at her, she felt herself grinning in reply before checking her mouth for signs of drool. Maker, he was handsome. Maker, she was an idiot for thinking he'd be interested in her as anything more than a friend.

**~~~oOo~~~**

She was overjoyed with her new quarters. On one side of the stone wall was Kinnon, an intelligent and mordant friend. On the other side was Niall, already plotting devious methods of torture for the unharrowed and unsuspecting apprentices. The only thing that would have made it perfect was for Petra to be there as well, but she was rooming with Merrisoo the perfect mage, and gloriously goofy Godwin. Poor thing.

And she missed Joey. He snuck in most nights, as soon as Chipper came on duty, and she took to making a pallet for him on her floor each night before going to bed.

"Say, Joss, what do you make of Brin?" Joey asked a few nights after her Harrowing, his voice husky with sleep. She heard him yawn, and, before she could answer his question, she yawned as well.

"Brin? You mean Brinmar the Barmy?" she sniggered.

"He's a decent guy, Jo. You ought to be a little nicer to him. Although what he wants with you is a total mystery," he added frankly.

"Ouch. Thanks for that stab to the ego, Brother."

"I aim to please," he chuckled. "Seriously, he's a decent enough guy, just with some strange ideas."

To her utter disgust, she defended the Chasind. "No stranger than our ideas probably seem to him."

"Ah," was all her brother replied knowingly, and she tossed her pillow in his direction.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

It was their mutual regard for Joey that finally brought them together, and, for the next two months, the three of them tore up the Tower, playing pranks on anyone and everyone. Except the youngest apprentices. Joey said it was difficult enough to be torn away from their families, they didn't need to be harassed by their fellow mages. Brin and Joss agreed, but everyone else was fair game.

A few suspected they were responsible for the spate of tricks, but nobody turned them in. They were careful not to leave any hints about their identities. Although they were as thick as thieves, which should have been a big tip-off. In all likelihood, many probably _did_ know who it was pulling the pranks but chose to keep silent. There was a certain code of behavior among the denizens of the Tower. Not ratting out your fellow denizen was at the top of the list.

They replaced the sugar with salt at the main table, and the First Enchanter and Old Wynne the Windbag's expressions were priceless. She apologized to Greagoir, who had nearly choked to death, his face beet-red and his eyes streaming. Lucian Caravel, who didn't care for sugar, and therefore didn't use it, had a smile on his face, although the smile looked a bit smug. Still, a win-win prank as far as she was concerned.

One week later, Joss turned the main assembly hall for the templars into an ice rink and then Joey and Brin went up to the bell-room and began to ring out the alarm signal. Three sharp clangs, followed by silence, followed by three more. The templars scrambled out of bed to assemble, and Joss, wedged into a small cubbyhole, found it nearly impossible to hold back her laughter as wild-eyed, flailing templars slipped and skidded on the ice. Chipper was the only one who seemed to be enjoying himself, as he balanced carefully, gliding around the room.

"Ser Carroll! Fall in!" Greagoir thundered.

An unfortunate choice of words, all things considered. Joss stuffed her fist into her mouth and then felt warm air on her neck as Brin and Joey joined her. Of course, they barely made it back to their rooms before the templars swept through the mage's quarters, trying to discover why the alarm bells had been rung. A glorious night, that.

Three weeks after that they hit the senior mage staff. Joseph and Brin made their way along each room, placing repulsion wards on the open doorways. It was Josslyn's turn to rouse the sleeping, and she couldn't wait to see Wynne the Sycophant and Irving the Worst Enchanter go flying teakettle over arse when they hit the repulsion spell.

"You should do it now," Brin whispered against her skin, making her forget momentarily what she was supposed to do. She gulped and then Joseph nudged her. "Now," he hissed.

She screamed. And not just once, but three times, as loud and as shrill as possible. The effect was immediate. They scampered to hide behind the heavy curtains that acted as a partition between the bedrooms and the common room, peeking out to see most of the senior staff go flying backwards, many of them cursing very colorfully as they went.

"Josslyn Amell! I know this is your work!" Wynne shouted, shaking her fist from her position on the floor, nightdress hiked up and hair tumbling down. Joss buried her face in the crook of Brin's neck to try and stifle her laughter.

Another win for the Terrors of the Tower, as their fellow mages began to refer to them. They grinned like idiots, and, once safely back in Josslyn's room, they congratulated each other, jubilant in their success. Maker, she couldn't remember when she'd had such fun.

They waited until things had settled down again, when everyone became complaisant, before striking again. Joss distilled an oil of skunk cabbage, mixed with just enough attar of rose to mask the smell. Until it was burned, then it was all skunk and no rose. It took her a week to perfect the oil, a week of slipping into the potions laboratory late at night. It was worth it when Lay Sister Evita lit the incense burner while the devoted knelt before the altar. The Terrors watched as first one, and then another of the faithful clapped a hand over their nose and fled the chapel. Well, all except Keili, who wailed that it was further evidence that mages were cursed.

It was a time Joss knew would never come again, and she savored each moment of it as a rare and unexpected gift. She had never seen Joey laugh so much or seem so happy. He finally stopped looking at Anders with longing. He was, in every way, the brother she had always known and loved. And she was happier than she'd been since Owain's rite.

_**~~~oOo~~~**_

Joss paced her small cubicle of a room, wondering how long Joey would take with his Harrowing. She should be trying to find him in the Fade, and help him, but he had made her swear she wouldn't and, like a dolt, she'd agreed. Now the minutes became hours as she covered the ground with short, jerky steps, wringing her hands like a little old lady.

"Joss?"

"Brin, what are you doing here?" Joss asked indignantly, throwing herself on her bed and pulling the covers up to her chin, wishing fervently she had something besides an old, washed-out flannel nightdress on. As in: anything else.

"I just came to keep you company," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Joseph said you'd be as nervous as a cat in a mabari pen. He wasn't kidding."

Then, without warning, Brin leaned in close and kissed her for the first time. She should have shoved him out of her room, but instead she returned the kiss with fervor. She wasn't about to ask him why, especially when he could have just about anyone else in the tower. She wasn't special in any way, not really. She didn't have Petra's sweet smile, or Reva's dancing curls, or even Merrisoo's perfection. She was too tall, too awkward and her hair was never neat. He was graceful in every way and she was…utterly not graceful in any way.

But Maker, she didn't care at that moment because his lips were moving against hers with the grace of a dancer. She was sorry when he pulled away and gave her a reluctant smile. "I probably should have asked if I could do that."

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission, according to Lucian Caravel. I'm inclined to agree with him, much to my surprise."

Brin laughed, his eyes dancing. "Good to know," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. And then he was gone, leaving a small rodent scurrying around her bed in his place. Well that was…unexpected.

It was Greagoir's arrival that caused Brin to shape-shift, a talent she didn't know he possessed. Greagoir had come to her room to let her know that Joseph had passed his Harrowing, and he had assigned him to the same rooms as Brin.

"You seem to be a good influence on our Chasind mage. But be warned, Joss. He has no formal training and might be dangerous. If you see the use of any forbidden magic, you are duty-bound to report it."

Glancing down at the mouse scampering around her blankets, she bit her lower lip. "Of course, ser." And she agreed that Brin might be dangerous. Her heart was already in jeopardy.

As soon as Greagoir left, Brin shifted again, emerging with a bright grin. "So, I should be careful around you, eh? You might be tempted to turn me in."

She gave him a conspiratorial smile. "Not if you teach me how to do that."

"That's one that I can't teach you, but I can teach you a few other tricks. How do you feel about toads?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **_Thank you, as always, for the thorough and helpful beta, Lisa!  
>Warning: this is not exactly light and fluffy in sections. <em>

**Lies**

"I do believe I see some red in your hair. Must be the light," Brin teased, leaning up on one elbow and grinning.

"Lies. Spurious, scurrilous lies. I don't have any re…ouch!" Joss yelped, clutching at the spot on her head where he'd just removed several strands of hair.

"Would you two be quiet already? Some of us actually go to bed to _sleep_!" Niall complained, his voice loud even through the stone divider that separated them.

"Stop listening then!" Joss shot back. "Brin, don't you have a special hedge mage type of spell you can use on him?"

"Sure, but it hasn't worked on you yet so why would it work on him?"

The feisty mage tossed a small bolt of lightning at him and he rolled over, pinning her to the bed, grinning down at her. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met, and even though he'd sworn to himself that he would not fall in love with her, he'd done precisely that.

"Oomph, get off me, you barbaric scapegrace," she grunted, holding on to him with both hands.

"I should leave now anyway," he said reluctantly. He hated skulking around at night, sneaking into her room and then sneaking out again. He hated the thought of not being with her even more, so skulking it was. He was so adept at slipping past the templars on night duty, he was confident he could find Joss's room blindfolded.

He was still surprised by how confined mages were outside the clans and tribes of the Chasind. In his culture, mages were both revered and feared, given support and training as soon as magical talent manifested in a child. Their abilities were actively sought, used as a bartering tool at times, and mages were fiercely protected by the members of their clans.

He wondered what his life would have been like had Joss been raised by his clan. Not that it mattered. Their paths had already been decided and it was just a matter of following the trail markers. Or so it felt.

"There you go again, fading away. I must be even more boring than I thought," Joss complained, fingers pulling gently at his hair. "You realize women everywhere would die to have your hair," she added, wriggling out from beneath him and sitting up.

"Really? You don't seem to be dying," he replied, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for his robes. He felt the shiver of premonition whisper along his spine_. _Silently, he moved to kneel in front of her. Resting his hands lightly on the soft skin of her thighs, he looked up at her. "In fact, you look disgustingly healthy to me. How you do that without the benefit of fresh air and sunshine I'll never understand."

"Magic, of course."

Laughter gusted out of them and they collapsed against each other.

"Maker's breath! Shut! Up!" Niall demanded.

"Go soak your head, Melon!"

**~~~oOo~~~**

"Can you manipulate any dream?" Brin asked, standing in a meadow of purple star-shaped flowers that Joss had created for them. The angle of the sun was off, and he'd never seen flowers quite that color, but he could feel the lilac-scented wind sifting through his hair and the heat of the sun warming his skin. She was a much better _Rasui Balari_ than the clan elders had believed. No wonder Flemeth was so interested in her.

"I suppose. I've never had a problem, but…" Joss answered, trailing off with a slight shrug. She looked out across the meadow, gnawing on her lower lip.

"Can you manipulate a dreamer?"

He watched as Joss, looking unnaturally solemn, nodded. "I promised Joey I wouldn't do that again, so don't ask me to."

He hadn't expected that answer, and disappointment, as bright and brief as a lightning flash, ran through him. He nodded and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's go and enjoy that magical sunshine that keeps you so healthy," he said.

Instead, the scene blurred and when it cleared they were sitting in a rust-colored field of rye grass, the wind cold and sharp as it howled through the dry stalks of grain. A large woman, moving through the fields singing, came into view, and he recognized Cook Killdare.

"What do you want for breakfast tomorrow morning?" Joss asked quietly, her voice oddly flat.

For a moment he was too confused to speak. Comprehension came slowly and with it, guilt. He hadn't intended to push her, and he especially hadn't meant to hurt her. "No, Joss, I do understand. Don't do anything you don't want to."

"Apple tarts? It's not pie, granted, but tarts are nice," she continued, in the same wooden voice.

He pulled her close. "Stop it, Joss."

"Isn't that why you're with me? To see what the freak of nature can do?" she asked, pulling away from him. One minute she was there and the next she simply vanished, leaving him alone in the field of rye.

He woke up in his bed with a start. Disoriented, but determined, he pulled his robes over his head and made his way through the shadows to Josslyn's room, avoiding the alcove where he could hear Chipper mumbling in his sleep instead of standing watch.

Niall was snoring and Kinnon's breath whistled as he exhaled. But even with all the noise, he could hear Joss's muffled crying. Brin stood in the dark, unsure what to do.

He hated when she cried, not that she ever did so in front of anyone. There had been several times when he'd seen her looking wistfully at a small painting and then she'd disappeared for an hour or more. He'd followed her once, and when she'd entered a practice room, he'd stood outside the door, listening. Moments later he'd heard her trying to stifle her sobs, a strangled sound, muffled by something that he guessed were her hands pressed to her mouth. It was the saddest sound he'd ever heard and he wouldn't ignore her tears this time.

"No," he whispered, climbing into her bed and pulling her close. "No, that's not the reason. I love you. _That's_ why I'm with you."

"Don't say that," she hissed, pulling away from him.

He would never understand her. He'd always been led to believe that love was a good thing, that expressing love and giving voice to the feelings were good things. She didn't seem to agree. But then she wasn't like anyone he'd ever known so he shouldn't be surprised.

"Have it your way. I lust after you. Better?"

She made a gurgling sound, damp laughter spilling from her. "Just as daft as saying you love me, but I can live with it."

Later, after they'd made love and she'd fallen asleep, curled up around him like a wild vine, he considered telling her the truth. He knew he wouldn't….couldn't. It would destroy her spirit, and whatever he'd felt when he'd arrived, whatever his reason for being captured, he was in love with her now, and he would stay as long as he was able, help her in any way he could.

He kissed her lightly before gently extricating himself.

**~~~oOo~~~**

"You can't, either."

"I can and I _will_," Brin argued, grinning at her.

Joss rolled her eyes at him. "You are such a braggart. I'll bet desserts for a week that you can't."

"Not only can I, Josslyn Winifred Amell, but I'll do it and make sure the blame falls on someone else. Prepare to pass your desserts my way for a week."

"Sure, sure. Be mindful of that puffed out chest…you'll pull a muscle," she warned, grinning. "Now, let's find some more mice. I think I've got the hang of the spell now."

He was teaching her how to transmogrify. He wanted to teach her shape-shifting as well, because she was fascinated with it, but he wouldn't break his oath to his clan and he wouldn't give Flemeth the satisfaction. He felt no loyalty to Flemeth, and as much as she demanded he obey her, he wouldn't. Not this time.

For most of his life, he'd believed that his parents had died when he was a baby and that he'd been taken in by the clan. That much was true, but his parents had pledged him to the Woman of Many Years before he was even born. It was the custom among many of the Chasind to offer up a child to her, in the hope of obtaining her favor, and also as a way to exchange knowledge of ancient forms of magic.

Flemeth was determined to build an army of sons and daughters, both natural and adopted, for a future war that she refused to say anything more about. The tribes and clans of the Wilds had no reason to doubt her. She had aided many of the tribes in the past, and the shamans of many clans acceded to her wishes in the hope that she would continue.

The Witch of the Wilds had visited him for the first time when he was five and his magic was just beginning to manifest. She'd terrified him then, and it wasn't until he'd learned more about her that his terror had given way to anger at the arrangement between her and his clan, and eventually he even began to feel pity for her.

She was powerful, more powerful than any mage he'd ever met. She was not a part of the natural world; he felt that, understood that. He also understood that she was a lonely, bitter woman, who was consumed with the future to the exclusion of everything else. Each spell she taught, each lesson she gave, each son or daughter she created or was given…all of it…was for one purpose and one purpose only: a future battle that would transform the world. Or so she claimed.

When he was ten, she'd come to see his progress. When he'd shown her his wolf form, she'd extracted a fang, some of his light brown fur and a drop of his blood. She'd refused to say why. He knew now, but not because she'd told him. He'd overheard the elders discussing his _Arcae de Animus_ and he'd gone in search of it, found it, and quietly destroyed it. When he died, he would not be tethered to Flemeth.

"Brin? You faded out again. You missed the show."

Joss was proudly holding up a very unhappy green mouse by its even greener tail. "It almost worked," she boasted, laughing as she set the creature down. Brin whispered the spell and transformed the mouse into a toad and then back to its original state.

"Try again, Bright Eyes. This time concentrate on the _form_, not the color."

**~~~oOo~~~**

"What happened to Greagoir's beard?"

That was the question of the day in the Tower, three weeks later; whispered from one mage to another, from cook to scullery maid, from templar to templar. Greagoir's full, heavy beard was gone. Only a closely trimmed strip of grey from ear to ear along his surprisingly square jaw, remained. He looked years younger and pounds lighter, but very unhappy.

An assembly was called to discover who had put the ants in Greagoir's beard as he slept. There had been so many of them that he'd finally hacked away most of his beard to rid himself of their 'insidious infiltration' as he called it. Or so claimed the manservant assigned to the templar's floor.

"I want to know who's responsible for this outrage and I want to know now!" Greagoir thundered. A soft swell of murmuring ran through the assemblage, and most of the mages, and a fair amount of the templars, turned their eyes in Joss's direction.

"Andraste's flaming beard, I didn't do anything!" Brin mentally winced at her choice of words, but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped.

A wave of laughter broke over the gathering, and Greagoir glared fiercely at the congregation. "Rest assured, I _will_ find the answer and when I do, there will be appropriate measures taken. Now get to your classrooms!"

"I thought you were going to put the ants in _Irving's_ beard," Joss whispered, her voice quivering with repressed laughter and a hint of reproof.

"I couldn't. He – uh – had company. Ugh." Brin couldn't help the shudder that particular memory gave him. "Besides, I think I did Greagoir a favor. He looks much better, don't you think?"

"He looks almost human," Joseph piped in.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be the one who gets into trouble for it. He looks like he could easily and cheerfully put thumbscrews to the person responsible."

"Yes, about that…" Brin began but trailed off as a group of mages passed them. They were all whispering and laughing and several gave Brin, Joss and Joseph knowing looks.

"The terrors of the Tower strike again," Petra snickered, linking arms with Joss.

"Don't look at me, I'm as innocent as a…erm…someone help me out here…innocent as a what?" Joss asked, glancing at Joey.

"Hey! I'm not innocent. Uh, that's not what I meant. Stop looking at me that way, Petra."

They were all laughing as they made their way to their classes.

An hour later, Brin was told to report to Greagoir. Joss was just leaving the knight-commander's office, and he paused to talk to her before he met with the irate templar in charge. She was shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she came out of Greagoir's office, looking thoroughly disgusted and faintly hurt.

"He's convinced it was me," she muttered darkly. "He ought to know better."

"No worries, love. When I'm done he's going to believe it was Anders or my name's not Brinmar the Magnificent."

A smile poked through her gloom. "You mean Brinmar of Clan Cauliflower, right?"

He was still chuckling when he entered Greagoir's office. One look at Greagoir's expression put a halt to any desire to laugh.

"Tell me what you know about this incident!" Greagoir barked gruffly.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Ser Greagoir."

"Don't fob me off, boy. You and the twins are up to something, that much is obvious. I saw you slinking off to the practice room with them yesterday."

"They're helping me with my fire spells, ser. I did see…no, I shouldn't say anything. I'm sure it was nothing."

"Out with it!"

Brin shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. "I really couldn't. I don't want to get anyone into trouble. But, well, you've been really good to me since I arrived, so I…really, Ser Greagoir, I'm not sure it's even important."

"Speak up, Brinmar."

Brin looked up and met Greagoir's gaze. "If I tell you, please don't punish him too severely. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm."

"He? He who?"

"Well, I can't be sure he did it, ser. I'd hate to falsely accuse anyone."

"It was Anders, wasn't it?"

Brin dropped his eyes and shrugged, wondering if he was laying it on too thick. "Can't say for sure, ser, but last week when you sent several of us to help with the ant infestation in the dining hall…well…it's probably nothing." Brin paused, thinking he was probably overdoing it, but Greagoir was rubbing his newly shaped beard thoughtfully.

"Yes, it must have been Anders. I remember him muttering something about the oppression of the ants being just like the oppression suffered by mages. Utter rubbish, of course. Thank you, Brinmar. That will be all."

That night at dinner, Brin tried not to gloat. It wasn't easy. Anders was clearing the tables by himself, wearing the look of a true martyr. While Brin would never admit it, he was happy to see Anders getting a bit of his own back. He'd been an absolute lout to Joseph, and hadn't treated Joss much better. If she'd found out that Anders had tried to get Brin into bed as well, she'd probably roast Anders's nuts. He ducked his head, hiding his grin at that thought.

Joss glared as she slid her egg custard across the table to him. "I hate you," she hissed.

"You know that's not true. You love me."

"Don't push your luck, Barbarian."

~~~oOo~~~

She was running along the curved hall, hair falling down from its knot in auburn wisps when he spied her. He'd remembered the first time he'd teased her about being a redhead. That had been a painful experience. He rubbed his shoulder where the first bolt had knocked him clear off his feet and smiled. She had no fear of her magic, which was a refreshing change from most of the other mages in the Tower. They appeared terrified of the templars, their magic and their very existence. There were a few who seemed seriously deranged, viewing themselves and all mages as cursed by a vindictive god. He would never understand people like Keili.

"I'll wager she'll smack right into Greagoir," he commented, grinning at Joseph.

"No, Greagoir's meeting with some buckethead. I did see Wynne leaving the library a few minutes ago."

"Even better," Brin said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "That busybody really needs a good set-down."

A set-down was exactly what Wynne got as Joss ran full-tilt into the senior mage and sent her reeling backwards, to sit down heavily with an undignified yelp. Joss's smile was positively beatific as she tossed out an apology before picking herself and her spellbook up and continuing on her way.

"There's no running!" Wynne shouted breathlessly.

"Really? Good to know, thanks!" Joss called over her shoulder before she disappeared into the laboratory.

Wynne shook her head and glared at Brin, who continued to lounge against the wall where he'd witnessed her downfall. Or was that her fall-down? He allowed himself a quiet snicker. Joss was definitely rubbing off on him. The nine months he'd spent in the Tower had been the some of the happiest he'd ever experienced.

Joseph offered a hand to the elderly mage, who thanked him and made as dignified an exit as possible.

"That woman is dangerous," Brin remarked quietly.

"She's not so bad."

"You're joking, right? She has much too narrow a view to be anything but dangerous. Especially to other mages who don't fit into her preconception of what a mage should be. Like me. And Joss. And probably you, although she seems to be fond of you."

Joseph shifted, looking uncomfortable with the conversation. Brin opened his mouth to explain precisely how dangerous Wynne was, but bells began to ring, announcing the end of lessons for the day.

Later, clasping Joss to his side, he drifted in a drowsy euphoria. Joss's fingers were skimming along his skin, as light as a breeze, and he hummed his pleasure. In those moments, he wasn't a mage sent to help Joss with her rare gift or guard her against Flemeth. He wasn't a son of Flemeth sent to influence Joss, or gather the items necessary for her _Arcae de Animus_. He was just Brin, who loved Joss beyond reason.

"How were you captured, anyway? It's not like you're stupid. Or careless."

Joss had asked that question so many times that he'd lost count, and every time he gave a different answer. "Tripped over my own feet. Not unlike a certain mage I love," he teased, eyes still closed, body still floating, boneless and weightless.

"You couldn't trip over your own feet to win a bet. You're the most disgustingly graceful person I've ever met."

He opened his eyes to find himself staring into Joss's serious gaze. "Is that a compliment? By the Goddesses!"

She chuckled, rolling over and facing away from him. "Brat," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "I don't know why I put up with you. You're a conceited brat at that. Hmmm, what's not to love about that?"

"Wait…wait…did you just admit that you love me?"

"What? No! I – I did no such thing."

His fingers found the ticklish place below her ribs and she let out a howl of laughter. "Stop, you wretched barbarian!"

"She loves me! Hey, Niall, tell me you heard her confess her love."

"If it means you two will shut up, I'll say anything you want," Niall replied morosely.

"Right. Sorry about that, Melon."

"I heard it!" Kinnon called cheerfully from the other room.

"Ah ha! Josslyn Amell, what do you say to that?"

"You bribed him, no doubt. Offered to give him your dessert for a week since you're getting mine. Am I right?"

Goddesses above, he loved her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. "I see you are much too clever for me."

Later, as she watched him grabbing up his robes, she said, "If I was truly too clever for you, I'd have made you tell me the truth about how you were captured." There was a wry, wistful note in her voice that made him want to confess the truth, but no good would come of that.

"Mystery men are all the fashion this year, hadn't you heard? You're the only one in the Tower with one, how come you aren't crowing from the rafters about it?"

She laughed, leaning in to kiss him and he pulled her closer. "Tell you what, you confess your love for me and then I'll confess my stupidity in being caught by a pair of bumbling templars."

"Liar," she whispered against his lips.

**~~~oOo~~~**

The next morning Greagoir announced he was leaving the Tower for several weeks. He was wanted in Denerim for a conclave of some kind. A grim-faced knight-captain from Redcliffe would be in charge until his return. Ser Brumbley scanned the gathering, and his dark eyes narrowed as they paused on Joss and Joseph.

"I expect the rules to be obeyed without question. Infractions will be dealt with quickly and harshly."

There was a rumbling of discontent and unease at the news. Disquiet seemed the mood of the day after that. Mages and templars alike talked in hushed voices. Joss was nervous and when the time came for their transmogrification lesson, she shook her head, refusing.

"I don't trust that knight-captain."

"Never thought I'd see the day when you'd fear a templar," Joseph said, joining them in the common room.

"Never thought I'd be afraid of one," Joss replied seriously.

Only then did Brin wonder if she'd had a premonition of some kind. For a wild moment he wondered if he could escape, just grab her and keep running. Of course he couldn't. That was exactly what Flemeth had wanted him to do: teach Joss shape-shifting and use the ability to escape the Tower. Flemeth wanted Josslyn's talents, wanted to control her. Or worse. And for all that Joss was smart and strong and sassy, she was also naïve about life outside the Tower's curved walls and entirely too trusting. And she would never go without Joseph.

"_But leave the brother. He is weak and his own future has already been set in motion by that weakness."_

For the first time since they'd become lovers, he didn't sneak into her room that night. Nor the next. She finally slipped into his room on the third night. Her feet were cold and she was shivering as she rested in his arms.

"You all right?" he asked, concerned. He formed a small wisp of pale golden light that hovered above them.

"Just hungry, I think. I was starving all day but the minute I saw the lamb stew my appetite ran for the hills."

"You sure that's all?"

She rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like Senior Enchanter Hobbes fussing over his mouser, Calvin. Really, there's heaps better things you can do with that mouth of yours, Barbarian," she added, wriggling against him.

"I'll show you a barbarian, Bright Eyes," he growled. Her laughter tickled his skin and he found himself laughing with her.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Joss glanced up from her book and then tossed it aside, dread coiling in her stomach. "What's wrong, Joey?"

Panting,and as pale as bleached muslin, he gasped, "Practice room…Wynne…Brin…"

She was up and running before he finished, her stocking-clad feet slipping on the slick stone floor, hair tumbling down from its knot. She could hear Joey's labored breathing as he caught up to her.

"You were warned about practicing any forbidden magic when you first arrived, young man!"

Joss felt her heart slam into her ribs and for a moment she thought she might faint. The hall dipped and then seemed to dim, the hum of voices falling into silence. She blinked and looked around. Templars and mages were gathering in a semi-circle and that meant Ser Brumbley would arrive to see what the commotion was about.

"I'm sure you don't mean for everyone to hear your discussion," Ser Bran said quietly, stepping into the fray.

Joss pushed her way through the small knot of people and stood beside Brin, her magic stirring. "What's up, Brin? You were supposed to meet me in the library," she lied, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. Butterflies the size of mabaris were dancing in her stomach.

"Sorry, I just wanted to practice that fire spell I've been having trouble with and -"

"Do not lie to me, Brinmar! I know what I saw and heard," Wynne admonished, her indignant tone setting Joss's teeth on edge.

Bran and Stoker began to disperse the crowd. Joss spoke, hating the fear that shook her voice. "Please, Senior Enchanter Wynne, if you think Brin did something wrong, I ask you to wait until Knight-Commander Greagoir is back so you can discuss it with him."

"His magic poses a threat to every mage in here, Josslyn Amell, and my duty in this matter is clear."

"Please, please wait. Ser Brumbley doesn't –"

"Doesn't what, Mage Josslyn?" the knight-captain asked.

Her mouth and brain froze, unable to think of anything even remotely funny or intelligent. Panic woke up and started running around in her blood like ants to honey. She gulped, glancing at Brin, who was staring straight ahead, his face locked in a grim expression.

And then, the world tilted and dipped again because Ser Brumbley was ordering Brin to accompany him. "Ser Bran, Ser Stoker, ensure the mages return to their rooms. Immediately."

Joss felt her magic leaping along her nerves as she watched Brin walking away. "Do something, Ser Bran, please," she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'll see what I can do for him, but I suspect they'll put him in isolation until the knight-commander returns. Don't worry, Joss," he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. _Don't worry? Sure, might as well stop breathing while I'm at it_.

She felt Joey's arm around her shoulder as he led her back to her room. "He'll be fine…too smart not to be," he reassured.

"Well, sure, because Ser Brumbley is such a nice, jovial old coot," she snapped, unreasonably angry at all the meaningless platitudes people seemed intent on spewing.

The punishment for using forbidden magic could be severe, and every mage was instructed in what those punishments were...solitary confinement, tranquillity or death. There had been only one case of a mage caught using forbidden magic in all her years in the Tower, and Greagoir had isolated the mage until he was confident that he posed no threat to the other mages, sending him to work with the Tranquils but stopping short of subjecting the mage to the Rite of Tranquility.

Pacing back and forth in the confines of her small room she tried to stay calm. "What happened?" she asked Joey finally, refusing to believe the worst. She had to think. She had to stay focused. She had to do something, _anything_, to save Brin.

"He was showing me his eagle form in the practice room and Wynne barged in to see what was going on. It's – it's my fault. I asked him to show me! I'm such an...please, Joss, I'm so sorry," Joey choked, head bowed.

"It's not your fault, Joey. It's all right," she consoled, but it wasn't and they both knew it. There was nothing either of them could do, so she did the only sensible thing she could think of. She curled up on her bed and cried herself right into a restless sleep.

When she woke, Lucian Caravel and Joseph were seated in chairs that had been pulled up beside her bed. Joey refused to meet her eyes when she looked at him.

"Josslyn, I want you to drink this potion," Lucian said firmly, handing her a small glass vial containing a foul-smelling liquid.

She sniffed it suspiciously. "Why would I drink this? It's purple and it stinks."

"Don't be stubborn, Amell. Drink it. Now," Lucian ordered, voice cold and uncompromising.

"Go on, Jo, it's okay," Joey urged. Maker, had he been crying? His eyes were puffy and red and his voice was wobbly.

Grimacing at the horrid taste, she handed the empty vial to her potions master and shuddered. She shook her head, sitting up and folding her arms across her chest.

"He ordered Brin to be made tranquil, didn't he?" she asked, the thought causing her chest to tighten and her breath to catch. The room shimmered and wavered oddly and she felt woozy.

"No, Josslyn, he did not. Ser Brumbley felt he posed too great a threat and he struck him down with his sword of mercy. I'm sorry, child."

At first she didn't believe him, but his voice was too warm and too kind for it to be anything but the truth, because Lucian Caravel was neither warm nor kind. Something inside her seemed to shatter, to break into shards that stung as they pierced her. Before they could stop her, she jumped off her bed and swept out of her room in search of Wynne, her magic gathering around her like a suit of armor.

"You murderous old crone! I'll kill you for this!" she screamed at the woman.

"Josslyn, I had no idea that Ser Brumbley would –"

"Don't! Don't you dare!" Joss howled, her magic now flowing from her in shimmering waves of energy.

The smite sent her flying across the room and when she landed, she felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, followed by cramping so intense it doubled her over. She cried out, clutching her stomach and sobbing, wanting the terrible pain to stop and wanting to hurt everyone around her, to make them feel her pain.

"Maker's breath, she's mis…"

The world stopped and she slumped to the floor, thankful for the darkness.

**~~~oOo~~~**

The world slowly intruded on her dreamless sleep. A stir of the air when someone moved near her, a gentle hand on her forehead, a whisper of love in her ear, a hand holding hers, all told her that she was still alive. The trouble was, she didn't want to be, and it bloody well figured that the bogus bastard of a god only morons would pray to wouldn't grant her even that much.

"Try to eat, dear, that's a good girl."

"Mama?"

_Of course it's not mama, you idiot_. She struggled to open her eyes and then when she finally managed, it was so dark she couldn't see anything anyway so she shrugged and closed them again.

Pain receded, days passed and still she slept; and when she wasn't sleeping, she was crying, and since she hated to cry, she slept more often than not. More days passed and then one day she overheard Lucian Caravel and Florabunda, the Tower's senior healer, talking in hushed tones.

"She wasn't that far along. I'd be surprised if she was even aware of it."

"She should have been using a potion. She certainly knows enough of them."

_Yes, thanks much, Lucian. You can go now. And what potion? What wasn't she aware of? It sounded important. _ She struggled to wake up.

"Someone needs to stay with her at all times, at least until we're sure she won't try to hurt herself again."

"I'll arrange shifts, don't worry, Flora."

Joss drifted off because the tears were threatening once again. Maker's knobby knees! How many tears could one person possess? More days passed and then one morning she woke up to find her hand being held. She blinked and the hand holding hers squeezed gently.

"Good morning, Josslyn Winifred Amell. You are looking well this morning."

The tears came and this time she didn't go back to sleep. This time she let them come as they willed. Owain held her hand and watched without emotion, but with a calmness that crept into her and calmed her as well.

"Thank you for being here, Owain," she whispered through her tears.

"I am here because Lucian Caravel said you needed me. I promised I would stay."

Brin had made promises to her as well, but promises were just lies wrapped in hope.

"Are you feeling better, Josslyn?" Owain asked a few minutes later.

"Yes, thanks," she replied.

Maybe one day it wouldn't be a lie.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **_This takes place immediately after the death of Brin._**  
><strong>_I apologize for the length of time it took to update this. When I finished _With Noble Intent_ Joss went on vacation and it took a long time for her to return.  
>Thank you, Lisa, for your wonderful beta skills and friendship!<em>

**Time**

The rumors were wildfires that spread throughout every nook and cranny of the Tower. Greagoir, upon his return, was furious, they whispered. He'd yelled at Irving and sent Brumbley packing without the customary letter of appreciation or the small coin-purse of sovereigns reserved for those who came to the assistance of the Tower. He'd sent Wynne to the chantry in Denerim, ostensibly to assist with an outbreak of plague, but everyone knew it was because he feared she might come to harm. The senior mages were divided, some praising Wynne's actions while others condemned her. The younger mages were almost unanimous in their support of Joss, with a few notable exceptions. Merrisoo didn't hesitate to explain why Wynne was very brave to have done what she did. The apprentices were confused about the entire episode and frightened by Brin's death, afraid they might be next.

Anders had used the ensuing chaos to flee the tower. Again. He was caught less than a day later, having stowed away aboard a merchant vessel. He might have succeeded, according to the stories, but his stomach gave him up. Apparently he was not a good sailor and his stomach had rebelled on the short voyage. The templars brought him back and it was only through sheer luck that the acting knight-commander didn't behead him as well. Joss discovered she disliked Anders even more, if such a thing was possible.

"You'd think someone who'd escaped several times would be better at it by now," Petra had remarked around a mocking laugh. "He must have been asleep when the uses of ginger root were discussed in Remedies class. And he claims to be a healer? Really?"

Many of the templars felt badly for the loss of one of their charges, and those who had known Joss most of her life felt particularly badly that one of their own had caused her pain. For all that she was mischievous she was not intentionally mean-spirited and rarely gave them any real concern, they whispered. Joss suspected they liked her because she didn't treat them as if they were jailors or oppressors the way Anders and his cronies did. They were just people in plate, doing their duty as they saw it. Nearly all of them found an excuse at one point or another to stop by Joss's room to look in on her.

Joss heard all the rumors thanks to Niall and Petra. Each night one or the other would come and stay with her, giving Owain a much needed break. And each night, even when she pretended not to, Joss listened to their gossip.

Joey was curiously absent and Joss tried to find it within her to go to him, knowing he must be devastated and guilt-ridden, but she couldn't find the energy to do so. Instead, she made sure that Petra, Niall and Kinnon checked on him every day. She felt him sometimes when she was sleeping; a hint of his shadow in the Fade when she entered in search of Brin. Once she called out to him and the shadow wavered and was gone. She felt as though she'd lost not just Brin, but Joey as well, and some part of her knew she had to bridge the gap between them. She just couldn't muster up the strength to do so. Maker's polished nuts, she was always so tired. And weepy. When would she feel like herself again? Ever?

She was also aware of Greagoir, who visited when she was pretending to sleep. He never said anything during his nocturnal visits and she was grateful. She still remembered the feel of his hand, reassuringly wrapped around hers when she'd been so excited about Joey's imminent arrival at the Tower, and she felt somehow calmer when he came to visit, even if she didn't acknowledge him.

He came to see Joss during the day two weeks after his return. He stood next to Owain and Joss thought he looked older and greyer. His newly trimmed beard made her want to cry again, so she looked at the wall instead.

"You can't stay in bed for the rest of your life," he said calmly, but with a hint of steel that made Joss turn to frown at him.

"Why not?" she demanded. Really, what did it matter? Her time in the Tower stretched out endlessly before her and she closed her eyes against the image. If she stayed in the Tower long enough would she become another Wynne? She scrubbed at her eyes, willing away the image of herself, old and mean-spirited, hobbling down a hall, cursing at her lost youth and the noisy apprentices and life. She blinked. Where had that come from? She frowned irritably and struggled to sit up.

"Because you'll become as fat as Hepplewhite," he responded immediately, and, to her disgust, she let out a small huff of laughter at the reminder of an old mage who'd been as round as he was tall, and who'd died in his bed when she was nine. The apprentices had been in awe of him because of his girth, and whoever came up with the old adage claiming fat people were jovial had never met Hepplewhite, apparently. A more ornery, pedantic man never graced the halls of the Tower.

"Besides, young lady, there are wagers being made as to how long you intend to lie abed, and you know how I feel about betting."

"Yes, we all know how you view betting. If you can't win the bet, nobody else will profit."

He laughed, a gruff sound, and then went on, "You would do well to find your brother and talk to him, Joss. He's drifting and you know how dangerous that can be for a mage."

Some piece of her, some small part, thought he was right and that it was time to get up, but the notion of facing all those pitying glances made her want to yank the covers over her head and remain where she was.

"Joss, I know you don't want to hear this, but I am heartily sor-"

Panic flooded into Joss and she pushed the covers away, standing on wobbly legs, her voice loud and shaking, "Don't! Don't you say it too!" she yelled, her hands coming up to cover her ears. "Being sorry doesn't do _anything_," she added, feeling suddenly foolish for standing in her nightdress in her crowded little room with her hands over her ears like a six-year old. She lowered her hands and raised her chin.

"No, but you _are_ out of bed, and as long as you are you might as well clean up and get back to work. Lucian Caravel asked that you become his assistant, for reasons that are unfathomable, and the First Enchanter and I have agreed."

She stared at the knight-commander and felt a smile creep along her lips, unfamiliar and strained, but there. It wobbled, and then steadied. "You must really want to win that bet."

He laughed, a quick, short bark, and then left the room without another word. Just as well; tears pooled and slipped silently down her cheeks. As unfamiliar as her smile was, her tears were an old and unwelcome visitor. She swiped at her eyes and went to stand in front of Owain. "You should get back to work, Owain. I'll be all right, now."

Owain stared at her, as impassive as ever, and gave her a calm nod. For a brief moment something seemed to flare in his blue eyes and then it was gone again, if it had ever really been there. She suspected some part of him _was_ there, still connected, no matter how tenuously. Or maybe she needed to believe that to lessen her guilt.

"I will be in the stockroom of magical items if you have need of me, Josslyn Winifred Amell."

She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek before turning away. Somehow she managed to bathe and dress before another bout of tears found their way to the surface. By then she was prepared and sniffed loudly, sending them scurrying back to the dark.

"So you have decided to rejoin the world around you," Lucian Caravel said without looking up from his writing. "Fetch a cup of liquid from that cauldron and drink it down," he added, pointing at a cast iron pot hanging over a small fire in the room's fireplace.

"Good to see you, too," she muttered as she ladled the viscous black liquid into a cup. "What is it?" she asked, sniffing it cautiously. It certainly didn't smell deadly. There was a hint of butter and cinnamon in it.

"Do not question your betters, girl. Drink it down and be quick about it."

"Hang on a tick, aren't you the one who taught me to question everything? To dismantle and deconstruct? Never to act blindly? Or was that some other instructor?" she asked, surprised by the acerbic tone in her voice.

A chuckle emanated from the depths of his tome and she shot him her fiercest scowl, which, of course, he didn't see. "A decoction of three parts coffee, one part brandy, with a dash of cinnamon bark and a drop of butter. I don't think you'll find it anything but restorative, you ungrateful child."

A snicker escaped from her, as strange a sound as her laughter had been earlier in the day. "Why do you want me as your assistant?" she challenged after she had finished off the surprisingly tasty, if horrendous looking, decoction.

"You are the least objectionable of those I was offered."

Well, he certainly knew how to make someone feel welcomed. Oh wait…no he didn't. She looked around the potions laboratory. "That's surprising. I was sure Merrisoo was the Chosen One."

This caused Lucian Caravel to make a sound best described as a _snortle_…equal parts snort and chortle. It was an odd sound, odder still to be coming from the grimmest man in the Tower. "She cannot be bothered to learn the difference between arrowroot and elfroot. Such a person has no place in a laboratory decocting potions."

"Maker's holy socks! A sin of the highest order. Why haven't you had her flogged for her ignorance?"

A loud snap sounded as Lucian Caravel slammed the book closed and then stood up. "If you are unprepared to take this posting seriously, I am sure Mage Merrisoo is more than willing."

Joss, hands on hips, sneered at him. "It would serve the both of you a much needed lesson in humility and patience."

Another snortle from the man was followed by a brief but caustic lecture on the duties of a harrowed mage fortunate enough to be assigned to him. She wondered, not for the first time, if he was truly as arrogant as he made himself out to be.

"Report back to me tomorrow morning. Do not be late," he added before returning to his book.

"Yes, Master Lucian, I shall do as I am bid because I'm such a biddable sort," she retorted, heading for the door. She stopped, hand on the doorknob. "And thank you."

"Do not thank me, mage. It is by your own merit you're my assistant, not some odd notion of patriarchal attachment. Fail me and I will find a new pupil."

"As if," she muttered on her way out the door, surprised to find an unwilling smile on her face.

Next she went in search of Joseph. She found him on the top floor of the Tower, in a small room across from the Harrowing Chamber, staring up at the window. He was pale, with dark smudges under his eyes and he looked as drawn out as she felt. Guilt niggled at her and her heart ached for what they had both lost.

"There's a nasty rumor going around that you are in love with Kinnon. Say it isn't so. He's not at all your type," she teased.

"Kinnon? He has a thing for Pansy."

Pansies? That's an odd fetish."

"You seem to have misplaced your sense of humor. That was truly lame," Joey said with a comically exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"Who are you kidding? You're grinning underneath all that moroseness. Morosity? Morosiveness?"

And then he was standing in front of her, taking her hands in his and squeezing them painfully. "I would have died in his place, Joss. Honestly."

They held each other, trying to pretend that neither of them was crying, but both of them were soaked by the other's tears. "It isn't your fault, Joey."

"And it isn't yours. He'd hate how we're taking this."

"I know, I just don't…it's just that…" she trailed off and gave a mighty sniff. "I am so tired of crying. Maker's hind tit, I'm sick of it."

"Yeah, you aren't exactly one of those dainty criers."

"And you are?"

"I look better than you do when I cry."

"Well, I must look horrendous because you are one ugly boo-hooer."

They laughed weakly at their pitiful attempt at teasing, but she noticed he didn't relinquish his hold on her and she wasn't about to let go of him. Somehow, they'd muddle through.

**~~~oOo~~~**

Time continued to pass and four months after she'd lost Brin, Joss realized it hurt a little less to think about him. There were nights when she wondered what being pregnant might have been like, nights when she created a Fade world where she and Brin and a faceless baby lived in a round house by a dark blue sea. There were nights when she searched the endlessly dreary landscape of the Fade for even a hint of him. There were nights when she walked the halls of the Tower without being accosted by templars or mages, unable to sleep or dream at all.

Working with Lucian Caravel helped keep her sufficiently busy during the day. She had a knack for potions and since it didn't require physical coordination, she excelled at it, although Lucian never told her that. She gleaned it from his lack of acerbic insults, not his abundance of praise. Joey found himself teaching the newest apprentices how to focus their magic. It was the perfect spot for him.

Life went on and if Joss had learned nothing else from her years in the tower it was that life always went on, even when one wished it wouldn't. She still searched for Brin in the Fade, but not every night. She still became teary-eyed whenever someone mentioned the pranks that the Terrors of the Tower had pulled, and she still dreamt of a small house by the sea. Not that she really had any concept of a sea. Larger than Lake Calenhad was all she'd ever been told, and as she'd never actually seen the lake in person, she was free to let her imagination loose.

Six months after Wynne had left the Tower, it was announced at the weekly assembly that she would be returning. There was a stir in the gathering, a rustling wave of noise as heads craned to find her in the crowd. What did they expect her to do? Faint? Tear her hair out? Wail? She shrugged and then found a smile, slapping it into place and staring up at Greagoir, who was announcing the roster for kitchen duty, laundry duty and various other tasks assigned to mages in an effort to keep them too busy to get into mischief or have sex. Which, of course, only served to make both activities more of a challenge.

"And finally, if anyone knows anything about the disappearance of any beverages of an alcoholic nature, I ask that you see me at once. No punitive action will be taken if the spirits are returned unopened. And by spirits I mean liquor, not demons. That will be all," Greagoir ended.

"All right, Petra, who took what?" Joss demanded after the crowd dispersed. Petra widened her eyes, feigning innocence.

"I don't know what you mean, Mage Josslyn."

"Right, and I'm a virgin."

Niall, standing behind her, choked on his laughter but it was too late. Joss rounded on him and zapped him with a small bolt of lightning. He yelped, glaring at her. "Bitch."

"Bastard."

They both laughed and he slung an arm over her shoulder as they walked to a vacant practice room. It felt almost normal, as if the interlude with Brin was just a passage in a book or a short time spent in a different world. She blinked away the sudden sting of tears and once again slapped a smile on her face.

Joseph joined them, slipping a dark bottle from beneath his robes. "Cherry brandy," he announced triumphantly.

Kinnon pulled out a pale green bottle. "Elderberry wine."

"Ugh, couldn't you two have managed something a bit less…sweet?" Joss asked, taking the brandy and sniffing it.

"Hey, we took what we could find. I believe it is your fault that the good stuff is locked up now. If you hadn't kept stealing Torrin's whiskey, we'd be sipping it now," Kinnon replied, hefting the bottle and taking a long pull.

"What about Bran's rye?"

"Locked up with Greagoir's brandy."

It wasn't long before Kinnon and Petra were singing ditties and giggling. To hear the rather somber young man giggling was a sound Joss hoped never to hear again, but it was fun to watch their antics. It had been so long since any of them had just had fun and created mischief. She blinked. Entirely too long. Brin would be sorely disappointed in her.

"Say, I have an idea…"

**~~~oOo~~~**

It took them nearly a week to prepare. Each night they left the safety of their room to meet in the dark practice room and whisper their plans. They were caught one night by Chipper, but Petra lured him away with a flirtatious smile and confusing explanation about the need for mages to walk at night to avoid the temptations of the Fade. Ser Carroll, scratching the back of his head, but entranced by her smile, allowed himself to be led away.

They waited until Wynne returned to the Tower and then they rehearsed one more time. When Joss was sure they were ready, she gathered them together and they made their way to the senior mages's floor. She and Joey climbed up the bookshelves like a pair of monkeys and Joss felt the familiar exhilaration caused by a rush of adrenaline.

"Ready?" she whispered to Joey, who gave her a broad wink. She looked at Niall's hiding place and saw a rustle of curtains. From her vantage point atop the towering bookshelf, she could see Petra and Kinnon hiding behind the large urns that stood in front of the entrance to the senior mages's quarters.

"Now!" she hissed, giving the others a raised thumb to indicate the time had arrived.

She and Joey let out a loud scream and doors flew open. Niall, Petra and Kinnon, as one, knelt and opened up their small sacks. Dozens of frogs, panicked by the noise and motion, began to croak and hop in all directions.

Only when she was sure Wynne was in full retreat did she signal Niall and Petra to join her in casting an ice spell. The floor quickly turned into a treacherous ice rink. Wynne slipped and slid, careening into Sweeney, who grabbed hold of the first thing that came into contact with him…Wynne's right breast. Both went down in a heap, Sweeney on top. Wynne's shrieks were music to Josslyn's ears.

Watching from on high, Joss's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"Josslyn Amell! I know you're behind this! Get _off_ me, Sweeney!" Wynne cried out.

Even from a distance, she could hear the other mages laughing and pointing at the hapless Sweeney trying to disengage himself from Wynne, but he seemed unwilling to unhand her breast.

The Terrors of the Tower were back in business and Wynne had been humiliated. It was a win-win situation for Joss.

Tears of merriment in her eyes, she whispered, "For you, Brin."


End file.
